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The ^'^ASt<)T"T*^;l•51:ISHIXG ^ 

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nascot Library, I. Xo. 2.— MARCH 27, 1894. ,S2.oo per Year. NFW YORK 

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0 


FOR 


Love of Gold 

/ 

'/ 

BY MARIE WALSH, 

Author of ** Hazel Kirke," Saints and Sinners," "His Wife 
or His Widow" etc., etc. 


FIFTH EDITION 


NEW YORK 


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"■'MAY 7 18^4 


/riff- y 


THE MASCOT PUBLISHING CO. 


1894 



Copyrighted 189a, 

BY 

MARIE WALSH. 


All Rights Restrved, 


the mershon company press, 

JIAHWAV , N. J. 


PREFACE. 


When Mr. Samuel Colville kindly gave me permission to base a 
novel upon the drama of “The World,” he regretted that he could not 
allow me to use the dialogue of the original MS., owing to his contract 
‘ with the authors of the play. I amplified the plot of the drama, intro- 
ducing a number of new characters and scenes which I interwove with 
the original plot of the piece, and I trust that the readers of "For 
Love of Gold,” who have seen the drama of “ The World,” will think 
I have added to the interest of the novel, by my treatment of the orig- 
inal characters. 

If the book meets with a meed of the success that the drama did 
when it was produced at the Drury Lane Theatre, London, and at 
Wallack’s Theatre, New York, I shall feel both content and grateful. 


MARIE WALSH. 




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For Love of Gold 


CHAPTER I. 


THE FORGED CHECK. 

Among the busy throng that hurried through Charing Cross 
on the morning of June 3d, 1878, was a tall, fashionably attired 
gentleman, who walked rapidly until he came to Morley’s 
Hotel: here he entered and inquired for Mr. Huntingford. 

He sent up his card by the waiter, who returned in a few 
minutes, and showed him into the handsomely-furnished parlor 
where Mr. Harry Huntingford, youngest son of Sir Charles 
Huntingford, sat reading a newspaper before a table on which 
was the debris of his late breakfast. 

The gentleman frowned, laid aside his paper, and rose when 
his visitor entered the room. With a suppressed yawn he 
extended his hand, exclaiming: 

“Ah! Rotunno, when did you arrive?" 

“ I have been in London nearly six weeks, signor." 

Meanwhile the waiter had removed the breakfast service 
from the table and quitted the room. Then Harry Hunting- 
ford pushed a chair forward for his guest, and offered his cigar- 
case. 

The visitor bowed, and applied himself to the task of se- 
lecting and lighting a cigar. 

“ How in the world did you find me?" questioned Hunting- 
ford, keeping his guest company with a cigar, and looking any- 

7 


8 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


thing but pleased at sight of the man who was seated opposite 
him. 

“ I met you walking in Regent Street last night. I followed 
you to Charing Cross, and saw you enter this hotel. This 
morning I thought I would call upon you.” 

“ I did not think you remembered me well enough to hunt 
me up.” 

“You are mistaken, signor; I never forget my friends.” 

“ How do you like London?” 

“ Oh, very well. I have sat in your Strangers’ Gallery and 
listened to your great speakers; I have been in the pit of the 
Opera and seen your fine ladies; I have wandered through your 
parks, and walked your streets; but London life does not suit 
me altogether.” 

“Why did you leave Paris?” 

“ On account of a little affair that gave our house a bad 
name. Count Beauchamp, who had lost heavily at cards, was 
so foolish as to blow out his brains. The police made partic- 
ular inquiry into the affair, but my sister told them that Count 
Beauchamp was a rejected suitor of hers; and for a wonder 
they believed her. Ah, ma Beatrice is a wonderful woman. 
The count’s family dreaded a scandal and did all they could to 
hush up the affair; but from that time we were under the sur- 
veillance of the police. Of course our business was ruined; so 
we left Paris the following month.” 

“ I suppose you intend to carry on the same business here 
that you did in the Rue St. Honore?” 

“ Possibly, signor. My sister Beatrice is with me; we have 
taken a charming furnished house in Curzon Street, and we 
rely upon you to introduce us to some of your rich friends.” 

“ In order that you may fleece them. No, Rotunno, I am 
in London now, not in Paris. I cannot become your decoy.” 

“Ah, signor, you have grown wonderfully virtuous since 
your return to England. Perhaps you have forgotten the even- 
ings you spent in the Rue St. Honore two years ago,” answered 
Rotunno, with a sneer. 

“We had better forget our follies,” replied Huntingford, 
impatiently, as if he would gladly dismiss the unpleasant sub- 
ject from his mind. 

“ If we can, signor,” returned the Italian, with a shrug of his 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


9 


shoulders. “ One of your follies, as you term it, cost me ten 
thousand francs.” 

“Come, Rotunno, that is a good joke; I lost more than 
double that amount in your house.” 

“ Signor, you are mistaken,” replied Rotunno, taking a slip 
of paper from his pocketbook and holding it so that Harry 
Huntingford’s eyes fell directly upon it. “ Do you remember 
seeing this check before?” he asked with a sneer. 

“ I cannot tell; let me examine it,” answered the other, ex- 
tending his hand for the paper. 

“ Oh, you can look at it in my hand — it is too precious to 
intrust to any one else. I will aid your memory, signor. One 
evening you played with several gentlemen at my house, and 
for a large amount. I suppose you were a little absent-minded, 
or possibly you were out of funds ; but at any rate you must 
have prepared the check before you came to the Rue St. Hon- 
ore, and it was very well done. At first I believed I had given 
you the check, but how or for what, I could not remember. I 
intended to speak to you about the matter, but as the gentle- 
man to whom you had given the check asked me to cash it for 
him before he left the house, I consulted my sister before I 
paid the amount. Beatrice is clever — ah! so quick and clever. 
She saw that it was not my handwriting, but a very good imita- 
tion of it. She whispered: ‘Pay it, it will be worth double the 
amount to you some day.’ I followed her advice, signor.” 

There came into Harry Huntingford’s eyes a look of abso- 
lute horror when he recognized the check. For a moment he 
could not speak; his lips moved, but he could not utter a word, 
while a dreadful pallor overspread his face. Regaining his 
composure by a mighty effort, however, he asked in a low voice: 

“What do you want for that bit of paper?” 

The Italian simply looked at the speaker, and there was 
someting of admiration, of pity, and of contempt in the long, 
lingering gaze of those shrewd, dark eyes; and yet he could 
not have looked at a comelier face or figure than that of the 
young Englishman. 

Handsome, but with a worn kind of beauty that told its 
own story — that of days and nights spent in wild dissipation, 
of prodigal habits, of an utter absence of self-control, of an 


10 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


idle, useless, and purposeless life, and of a nature spoiled 
and vitiated — the face would have been a noble one but for 
the lines that self indulgence had marked there. The head 
was well shaped and proudly set; it was covered with fair 
clustering hair, which waved in lines of perfect beauty from a 
broad, white brow. The face itself was clearly cut, with hand- 
some features. Dark blue eyes were overshadowed by clean 
straight brows. The mouth was well shaped and half hidden, 
by a fair, drooping mustache. 

The figure was tall, well-knit, and finely formed, and car- 
ried with a certain careless, easy grace. In fact, it was a hand- 
some young Englishman in the springtime of life, upon whom 
Rotunno cast his searching glances. 

“ I have no wish to dispose of it, signor,” Rotunno answered 
at last; “ I shall retain it, and I am sure I shall find it a very 
profitable investment.” 

“What use do you intend to make of that check? Surely 
you do not wish to ruin me?” 

“ No, signor; I only desire to secure your friendship.” 

“ Bah! you mean that you wish to become my master. Every 
time I decline to serve you, or to forward some one of your 
villainous schemes, you will hold that check over my head. 
Great heavens! I have half a mind to let you do your worst. 
I was only twenty years of age when I committed that act of 
folly ” 

“ Which is called by the law, forgery, signor,” interrupted 
Francisco Rotunno, calmly. 

“ I was but a boy in years,” continued Huntingford, without 
noticing the interruption, “ and did not realize what I was doing. 
Come, Francisco, don’t be too hard; let me pay you fifteen 
thousand francs and call it square.” 

“ No, signor, I could not part with the precious little docu- 
ment.” 

“ Beware, Francisco Rotunno !” exclaimed Huntingford, 
springing to his feet, his eyes fairly blazing in his excitement 
and rage. 

“So you are a little excited at last! You Englishmen find 
it so easy to keep your tempers — you are so cold and self-con- 
tained that it is a pleasure to see you roused,” answered his 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


II 


tormentor, who thoroughly enjoyed this exhibition on the part 
of the young man. 

“ Do you think that I will calmly submit to be made your 
slave? I come of a proud race; my ancestors were gentlemen, 
not blacklegs.” 

” It is probable that your ancestors did not commit forgery, 
signor.” 

As Harry Huntingford listened to these insulting words his 
lips grew a trifle paler, but he tried to hide the bitter pain that 
took possession of his soul. His crime had been brought home 
to him in a way that he had never imagined possible; but he 
was game to the last; he would never submit to become the 
tool of a rascal like Francisco Rotunno — the thought even was 
unbearable. 

For an instant he felt inclined to take the check by main 
force; but the thought was banished the moment it crossed his 
mind. Common sense told him that such an attempt would 
be his ruin. 

“ I do not ask you to become my slave,” said the Italian 
earnestly, as he looked the indignant man before him in the 
face. “ I merely wish you to introduce me to your rich 
friends.” 

“ Simply that you may rob them ” 

“ No, signor, I may play a few games of chance with them; 
but I do not intend to carry on the business here that I did in 
Paris. You English are so very respectable that the same game 
would not succeed in London. It is for my sister that I ask 
your influence. She is ambitious; she wishes to marry some 
wealthy Englishman. It seems she is tired of the life she led 
in the Rue St. Honore. 

“ I do not wonder that she became tired of luring men to 
their ruin. How many men went to your house simply to 
play? They went at first to catch a glimpse of your sister’s 
beautiful face, to listen to her superb voice. I was infatuated 
with her myself. I went to your house night after night merely 
to see her. After a time I played a few games — at first out of 
politeness, afterward because I had become a slave at the card- 
tabR. I won at first, I was already in debt and I thought to 
retrieve myself. After winning a few thousand francs my for- 
tune changed, and soon I had not a pound to my name. I 


12 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


wrote to my father, but he refused to send me more money. 
1 tried to borrow from some of my friends in Paris, but 
I was refused. Then I grew desperate — money I must have. 
I prepared a check in your name, never intending to use it in 
any way except merely to show it to the gentleman who had 
promised me my revenge. Good God! I had not the slightest 
idea that I should lose; but such was my fate, and, of course, 
my antagonist claimed the check. I endorsed it and staggered 
from your house half-crazed at the sudden turn of affairs. 

“When I returned to my hotel I found there a letter from 
my father. He implored me, to hasten home, as my mother 
was ill — perhaps dying — and he inclosed an order for twenty 
pounds. I lost no time in obeying this call, and my mother 
died the day after I reached home. When I had time 
to recall the events of the last night at your house, I 
thought at first of writing you an account of the occurrence, 
but I finally concluded to let the matter drop. I tell you 
frankly that I did not consider that I had committed so great 
a crime, and I thought it more than likely that we should 
never meet again.” 

“ But you see fate ordained it otherwise, signor.” 

“So it seems,” answered Huntingford, with a sigh. 

“When shall I have the pleasure of seeing you in Curzon 
Street?” asked Rotunno. 

“To-morrow evening I shall call on your sister. I am sure 
I shall find Madame Passo as charming as ever.” 

“Ah, signor, you do not know what a grand woman she is. 
So charitable, so noble, so what you English call virtuous.” 

“ Give Madame Passo my respects, Rotunno.” 

“Thanks, signor, I will do so. Allow me*to give you my 
address,” answered Rotunno, placing his card on the table. “ I 
forsee that we shall be very good friends. Help Beatrice to a 
wealthy husband, and I will cheerfully return your forged note. 
Adieu, signor,” and with a graceful bow the wily Italian took 
his leave. 

“ Perdition! Rotunno in London, and I in his power!” mut- 
tered Harry Huntingford, as he paced the room with impatient 
strides, a prey to remorse as he realized that he was powerless 
to free himself from the consequences of his crime. 


CHAPTER II. 


THE UNACKNOWLEDGED WIFE. 

Harry Huntingford dined at his club, took a drive in the 
park, and returned to Morley’s in better spirits than when he 
left- there in the morning after Rotunno’s visit. He was about 
making his toilet when the waiter knocked at the door and in- 
formed him that a lady had called for him. 

“ Who is she?” 

“She did not give me her card, sir; she wishes to see you on 
private business.” 

“Oh, I dare say it is my aunt, Miss Huntingford; the old 
lady has hunted me up, I suppose. Well, show her up here.” 

The waiter bowed gravely and left the room, muttering to 
himself as he went downstairs, “ I wonder if he takes me for a 
fool. Old lady, indeed ! Why, she’s young and pretty, al- 
though she tried to hide it.” And he smiled grimly as he es- 
corted the lady upstairs and ushered her into Mr. Huntingford’s 
sitting-room. 

The lady, who was plainly attired and closely veiled, waited 
quietly until the door had closed on the waiter, and then lifted 
her veil. Harry Huntingford started, and exclaimed in aston- 
ishment: 

“ Clara, you here !” 

“You are surprised to see me, Harry?” 

“ I must confess that I am, Clara. How dare you come to 
my hotel?” 

“ I did not come for myself, but for the sake of our child. 
The landlady has threatened to turn me out of my lodging. 
Who could I come to, if not to the father of my child? Oh, 
Harry, have you forgotten us?” 

“ No, Clara; but I have been busy.” 

He spoke coldly; he did not even take her hand in his, or 
offer to caress her. Evidently the glamour of his love for her 

13 


14 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


was gone. She was little more than a girl in years, for she had 
seen only eighteen summers: but she was strikingly beautiful, 
with a skin colorless but fine of texture and pure as marble, 
dark-brown hair, great velvet-brown eyes, and lips and teeth 
that would have made any woman lovable. Her figure was 
small but exquisitely molded, and she had hands and feet that 
a duchess might have envied. 

She was clothed in a cheap dark dress, a long black cloak, 
a dark bonnet, over which was a black lace veil, which she wore 
tied under the chin. This dress concealed very successfully 
both her face and figure. 

Without waiting for an invitation she sank into a chair, and 
said, in a voice that trembled from excessive emotion: 

“ Harry, dear, I have been so lonely without you. You did 
not write me, though I have sent you at least half a dozen let- 
ters. Baby is ill, too — , oh, so ill ! I thought she would die.” 

Harry Huntingford frowned, but he did not open his lips. 
He looked bored and ill at ease. 

“Oh, darling,” the girl broke out passionately, catching 
one of his hands and kissing it, “if you could realize how 1 
hate the life I am living you could pity me. It is terrible 
moving about from lodging to lodging, as though I had com- 
mitted some crime and was afraid of detection; and never 
speaking to a soul from week’s end to week’s end, and know- 
ing all the while what the people at home must think of me. 
All this, Harry, when I should be at your side and known to 
your friends as your wife.” 

“ If you don’t like London lodgings, Clara, why not go 
somewhere in the country? I cannot afford to keep you here 
in any better style than I do now.” 

“Wouldn’t it be cheaper for us to live together, as man and 
wife should?” 

“You know very well, Clara, that if my father discovered 
my marriage with you, he would cut off my allowance at once.” 

“Your father may be a proud man, but I am certain he is a 
just one. My family is not rich, but it is respectable. You 
are not the first gentleman that has married a farmer’s daugh- 
ter.” 

“No; I don’t suppose that I am the only fool in the world/* 
he replied, brutally. 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


15 


“Oh, Harry, Harry! why did you marry me? Why did you 
take me away from the loving hearts at home, if you were to 
become tired of me in a year’s time? I have broken the hearts 
of. the two whom I should love and honor, and bowed their 
heads witb shame. I wish to Heaven that I were lying dead 
here at your feet. I understand it all. You are tired of 
me. I am not a fine lady, and have not fine feelings like 
yours, perhaps; but I know how a man should treat his 
wife. You have not looked at me nor kissed me since I en- 
tered the room. Oh, Harry, love me again!’’ and the poor 
child burst into tears. 

“ Oh, Lord,’’ groaned Harry; “tears and scenes — scenes and 
tears! You come here and make a fuss; I suppose you will go 
to Sutton, next, and tell my father that you are my wife.’’ 

“And what if I should?’’ demanded the weeping girl; and 
then she looked at him a moment as though she intended to 
say something more. She stopped, however, sick with terror 
at the expression she saw upon the face of her husband. His 
blue eyes were fixed full upon her, and the red light that 
shone there gave them a meaning such as she had never seen 
there before. 

A great fear took possession of the girl; she read she knew 
not what upon that handsome face. Suddenly Clara thought 
of her child, who was left in the care of a neighbor. She 
determined to ask her husband for some money and to go to 
her at once. Rousing herself from the spell that had taken 
possession of her, she said: 

“ I am sorry that I am your wife ; sorry that you are the 
father of my child.’’ 

“ So am I, Clara. I had no right to marry you; I was a fool. 
I ought never to have sought you. Our love was a mistake 
from first to last.’’ 

“ So it appears now; but I am your wife, and there is no help 
for it. My child and I are on the verge of want; as I told 
you, I shall soon be put into the street; yet you scold me for 
coming to you for assistance.’’ 

“ Pshaw ! did I not tell you that I was short of funds?’’ 

“Why do you live here, then? You have enough to eat, 
fine clothes to wear, servants to wait upon you, while your wife 
and child are starving.’’ 


i6 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


“ Why do you not go home to your father and mother, Clara?** 
he asked impatiently. 

May I, Harry?” 

“Certainly; I have not the slightest objection to your 
doing so.’* 

“ May I tell them that I am your wife? I must set myself 
right in their eyes.” 

“Do you want to ruin me?” exclaimed Harry, starting up 
fiercely, 

“ God forbid that aught of ill should come to you through 
me. Only let me go home and tell my parents the truth; they 
will keep our secret,” pleaded the unhappy girl, while the tears 
rolled down her cheeks. 

“ What you ask is impossible. Your father would tell my 
father the truth, and I should be ruined,” was his heartless 
reply. 

Clara comprehended for the first time the inherent cruelty 
and selfishness of the man she had loved. She flashed a look 
of scornful indignation upon him and exclaimed: 

“ I will have justice !” 

“ Oh, you will?” 

“Yes, I will; if not from you, from others. I swear that.” 

“ Very well. Now listen to me, and to something I’m going 
to swear. If you desire to go to your people and tell them that 
you are my wife, very well, you can do so. But from that time 
I will never look upon your face again; I will never acknowl- 
edge you as my wife; I will never live with you again. So you 
understand what you have to expect. If you love me as you 
say you do, you will be willing to keep our secret a little longer, 
until I can support you properly, and introduce you as my 
wife.” 

The blood rushed to her foolish heart at the first approach 
to a kind word from the lips she loved. 

“ Poor fellow,” she thought, “ I was too hard upon him a 
moment ago.” 

“ I am not a scoundrel, Clara, and in spite of your reproaches, 

I do remember that you are my wife, and the mother of my 
baby daughter. I am a poor man, or I would see that you were 
lodged differently.” 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


17 

“ I do not care where or how I live, Harry, if you would 
only corne and see me, and treat me as you once did.” 

“ I will try to do better, Clara, in the future.” And he 
slipped his arm around her waist. Come, little woman, let us 
understand one another. I will try to do better; I know that 
I have been careless, but I did not mean to neglect you.” 

For a moment the unhappy wife hesitated, and then she 
turned and threw herself upon her husband’s breast. 

” I’ll say nothing, Harry; I’ll not go near the court.” Harry 
Huntingford kissed the woman who confided in and trusted 
him so completely. 

“Here is some money for your landlady, and here is the ad- 
dress of my lawyer. When you need money next month, you 
had better send to him; I may not be in town, and we must 
not let you suffer again,” he said. 

“ But you will come and see me soon?” 

“Yes, dear, I will come to-morrow. I want to see how the 
little one looks.” 

“ Oh, she has grown so pretty, Harry.” 

“Why should she not be? You are beautiful, Clara.” 

Poor Clara blushed with pleasure at this compliment, while 
the little hands with which she was fastening her cloak trem- 
bled. 

“Come, I will put you in a cab; but don’t come here again, 
for people will talk.” 

“ I won’t, Harry. I am sorry that I came this time, but I 
was so anxious, I thought that you were ill, or that something 
terrible had happened to you. Oh, I was so very miserable 
that I had to come, or I should have gone mad,” answered 
Clara, the tears starting again at the thought of all she had suf- 
fered. 

“ Poor little girl. I will not stay away so long again. I have 
been bothered to death about money matters myself. In fact, 
my dear, it seems as if everything was going wrong with me.” 

“ I am very sorry that you are worried. I wish we could 
be together, and I could share your troubles,” replied Clara. 

“ You are a good girl, Clara; but that cannot be at present. 
Come, let me put you in a cab, for I have an engagement that 
I must keep,” answered Harry, a little impatiently. 

Harry Huntingford escorted the little veiled figure to a cab, 
2 


i8 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


promising to see her again very soon. Then he made a fresh 
toilet, and departed to keep his engagement with Francisco 
Rotunno, congratulating himself upon having found a way to 
manage Clara at last. 


CHAPTER III. 


LAWYER LUMLEY’s ADVICE. 

Lawyer Lumley sat before a large, square table, on which 
was spread a parchment deed. His keen, shrewd face was full 
of deep thought, and showed that he was oblivious of every- 
thing except the deed that he was studying so intently. 

As he read on and on, the lines of his face relaxed, and a 
cold, satirical smile curled his lips. At this point the office 
clerk suddenly opened the door and announced: 

“ Mr. Harry Huntingford, sir.” 

“ I am ready to see him,” replied the lawyer, quickly fold- 
ing up the deed that had so engrossed his attention. 

“Am I too soon?” asked a mellow, indolent voice, and 
Harry Huntingford walked into the lawyer’s private office. 

“ No sir; I was expecting you.” 

The clerk placed a chair, and, at a signal from his master, 
left the room. 

“ Mr. Lumley,” said Harry, with a haughty impatience, “can 
you, or can you not, raise another mortgage on the estate 
which my mother left me?” 

“ I am sorry to say that I cannot raise another farthing, for 
there are already two mortgages on that piece of property. 
In fact, it is mortgaged for more than it is worth. Unless it is 
paid within a few weeks from now, the estate — Woodstock, 
with all its belongings — passes from you; it will be seized, with 
all it contains.” 

“And you are quite sure that I can borrow no more?” 
asked Huntingford. 

“Quite sure, Mr. Huntingford,” replied the lawyer. “The 
only thing that I can suggest is that you marry an heiress.” 

“ My dear sir, that is impossible.” 

“ You are too modest. Your handsome face and agreeable 

19 


20 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


manner ought to win you a rich bride. You are just the sort of 
man to make an impression upon a girl's heart.” 

“You flatter me, Lumley. Your advice is good, but I am 
sorry to say I am unable to follow it. I am already married.” 

“ I never heard of your marriage, sir,” said the lawyer in a 
surprised tone of voice. 

“ Because I never acknowledged it. I married the daughter 
of one of my father’s tenant farmers.” 

“ By Jove! I thought you were shrewder than that. She is 
the young, person you sent to me for money, I presume? ” 

“ Yes, has she been here? ” 

“Not yet; I received a note from her saying that she would 
be here to-day.” 

“ I am sorry for poor Clara; I wish I had never seen 
her face. I could not forsee that my love would cool so 
soon, or that I should be unable to support her.” 

“ Your brother has only an allowance from your father, I be- 
lieve, and yet, he never gets into debt.” 

“ He is too prudent for that sort of thing. He has a hand- 
some allowance until he marries; and then he comes into pos- 
session of Sutton Court. Until that time my father is privi- 
leged to reside there and manage the estate. Sutton, as you 
know, comes to my brother through his maternal grandfather, 
the Reverend Thomas Hatch. Then, at my father’s death, my 
brother will inherit the title and the Huntingford estate. 
Clement also stands a good chance of succeeding my uncle, 
Lord Landsmere, who is a childless widower.” 

“Your half brother is a fine fellow and worthy of all the 
good fortune that is likely to fall to his lot. His only fault is 
that of being a rover. You’ll have to marry a rich wife or 
depend solely upon your father’s bounty.” 

“Don’t talk nonsense, Lumley!” erred the young fellow 
impatiently. 

“Send your wife to me, my boy; I will see if I cannot make 
terms with her. We may get a quiet divorce for you. Has 
she a marriage certificate?” 

“ Certainly she has.” 

“She may be induced to part with it.” 

“ I fancy she will guard it as her most precious treasure, on 
account of the child.” 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


21 


“ Good Heavens! ” exclaimed the lawyer, looking disgusted, 
“worse and worse! I had no idea you had a child.” 

“Yes — a girl, three months old,” replied Huntingford. 

“ Well, that is better than a boy. If you should marry again, 
your second wife might have a son, and then it would create 
trouble; a girl would not matter so much. Now listen to me.” 
The lawyer was earnest, so intent that he carried the other’s 
weaker will along with him. “ I’ve worked hard all my life — 
I’ve worked because I love money, because I am ambitious, 
because I have an end in view. As you are aware, besides my 
law practice I am a money lender. It is no news to you that I 
hold the first mortgage on Woodstock; unless you pay it, the 
estate becomes mine.” 

Harry Huntingford’s pale, handsome face flushed at the 
thought of his mother’s ancestral home in the hands of a ple- 
beian money-lender. 

“ Mr. Huntingford, you inherited a fortune. I made one, 
and my fortune amounts to three hundred thousand pounds.” 

“ Heaven help those by whom you have made it.” 

“ It has been honestly made,” said the lawyer proudly, while 
a shrewd smile curled his hard lips. “ Mr. Huntingford, you 
have gambled; I have speculated — and my speculations have 
all turned out well. I have a daughter and three hundred 
thousand pounds. I wish to heaven I had a son to succeed 
me.” 

“ If I were not married, Lumley, I should certainly try to 
win your daughter.” 

“ Pshaw. You say you never acknowledged your foolish 
marriage.” 

“ No; I was afraid to let my father know what an idiot I 
had been.” 

“ I will arrange this little affair for you. As I said before, I 
have a daughter, and I will give her a dowry of two hundred 
thousand pounds if you will marry her.” 

Harry Huntingford lost his self-possession; for one half 
minute he looked and felt perfectly bewildered. “ I do not un- 
derstand you,” he said, slowly. 

“Then I will make my meaning even plainer. Make my 
daughter your wife and I will make you a rich man.” 

“ Good Heavens! Lumley, have you lost your senses? I am 


22 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


Sir Charles Huntingford’s youngest son — a ruined man — a mar- 
ried man; and yet you offer me your only child. You know 
that I am a spendthrift and a fast man, and you would trust 
me with your daughter. Upon my word you surprise me.” 

“You are far too modest, as I said before. You may be a 
scapegrace, Mr. Huntingford, but you are a gentleman. There 
is no bluer blood in England than that which flows in your 
veins. I am not afraid that you will abuse my trust in you. 
You will treat my daughter like a lady.” 

“ But you could marry her to a better man, Lumley.” 

“So I might; but not into such an old family. I am ambi- 
tious, as I told you. Marry my daughter, and you shall not 
have another care in the world. She will be happy, you will 
be free and wealthy, and I shall be content. 

“ By Jove, Lumley, you surprise me beyond everything. If 
you are so ambitious why do you not pick out some of my titled 
friends for a son-in-law?” 

“ Because I fancy you. You stand as good a chance of be- 
coming a lord as any man in England. Your brother is liable 
to die young.” 

“ He is not an invalid, to my knowledge.” 

“No, but he is a traveler! One day he is in India; some 
months afterward you hear from him in America or China. 
Th^ man who leads that sort of life is liable to meet with an 
accident, or to take a fever; in short, he may never inherit your 
father’s title or estates.” 

“ I am ready to become your son-in-law,” he said, “provided 
you can annul my marriage with Clara Richards. She will be 
very firm, I imagine, in maintaining her rights.” 

“ Hunger is a sharp reasoner, my friend.” 

“ It is a pity to make the poor girl suffer,” said Huntingford, 
a sharp pang of remorse striking him at that moment. 

“ Leave her to me; she may rot, die, starve, perish in the 
streets for want of food, ere I would bestow one guinea to re- 
lieve her, if she refuses to resign the proofs of her accursed 
marriage,” exclaimed the lawyer, passionately. 

“ I wish to Heaven that I had the certificate; had I not bet- 
ter go and see if I cannot coax her to let me have it?” 

“No, Huntingford, that will never do; she would suspect 
that you had a motive in asking for it. Leave her to me, I say; 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


23 


I know how to deal with such women. I assure you that you 
can trust me to annul your marriage, if such a thing is pos- 
sible.” 

“Do not use violence, Lumley; get the certificate if you 
can, and beg Clara to return to her father’s house. I will not 
seek to know,” he added, his face becoming a shade or two 
paler, as he deliberately walked into the pit which had been 
prepared for him, “by what means you remove the evidence of 
my folly.” j 

“Enough, we understand one another perfectly.” 

Then the speakers resumed their usual manner; to all ap- 
pearances they had just settled one of the most ordinary and 
every-day affairs in the world. 

The next moment the clerk appeared and announced to 
his masters that Mrs. Clara Richards (the name by which Mrs. 
Huntingford was known) was in the outer office, and would 
like an interview. 

“Let her wait until I ring; I am engaged at the present 
moment,” answered the man of business. 

Harry Huntingford started at these words, and half frowned. 
His pride was shocked that anyone belonging to him should 
be treated so cavalierly. The lawyer understood the feeling, 
and smiled inwardly at the inconsistency of his client. When 
his clerk had withdrawn, Mr. Lumley continued: 

“ Your resolution is still unchanged, is it?” 

“ It is still unshaken. Let what is to be done be done 
quickly. I shall not feel content until the evidence of my 
folly has been destroyed,” was the reply. 

Then the already guilty young man passed out of the office 
by a private door, and entered the carriage which was waiting 
for him at the end of the street. 

There was a look of quiet satisfaction upon the countenance 
of the man of law when his client passed out of his chambers. 
He was determined to free Harry Huntingford from the 
woman who was his wife— his wedded wife — by any means, be 
they lawful or unlawful. 


CHAPTER IV. 


BETTER DEATH THAN DISHONOR. 

When Clara Richards was shown into the lawyer’s presence, 
a feeling of surprise took possession of him as he caught the 
first glimpse of her beautiful face. His hard heart was moved 
with something like pity and remorse. His compassion, how- 
ever, went no further than to induce him to politely offer her a 
seat. 

“ Well, my dear young lady,” he began, in his blandest tone 
of voice, “ my worthy client has authorized me to make you a 
proposal regarding a regular allowance.” 

Clara looked inquiringly at the lawyer’s keen face, but she 
replied with dignity: 

“ My husband, Mr. Huntingford, sent me to you for some 
money which he desired me to have as soon as possible. As 
he was called out of town suddenly, he could not call upon me 
himself.” 

“Did you receive Mr. Huntingford’s letter before mine?” 
demanded the lawyer. 

“ No, sir; I received them both by the same post.” 

“ Were you not surprised at the fact of your having received 
them at the same time?” 

“ I was, sir.” 

“Suppose I tell you the truth? I believe that truth in busi- 
ness matters is always the best. I am sure that I had better 
tell you the worst at once.” 

Clara clasped her hands and raised her dark eyes to his 
imploringly. 

“Your husband has not gone out of town, Mrs. Hunting- 
ford.” 

“ What do you mean ? Is — is he ill? ” gasped Clara. 

“ Do not be alarmed, my dear lady; Mr. Huntingford is 
enjoying perfect health. He was here this morning.” 

24 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 2 $ 

“ Why did he not come to see me, then, instead of sending 
me to you? ” 

“ Because he wished me to make an arrangement with you, 
by which you are to receive a certain amount per month dur- 
ing your life, provided you resign all claim upon him as 
his wife.” 

Clara looked at the lawyer an instant in surprise; then her 
pale cheeks flushed, and the hot, indignant blood dyed her 
face. 

“Did Harry Huntingford tell you to insult me?” she 
demanded. 

“ You are too severe, my dear madame. My duty is to 
my client, who has instructed me to offer you the most 
liberal terms.” 

“ Spare yourself the infamy of repeating them, sir. Oh, 
Heaven! this from the man for whom I deserted my parents 
and left my home,” cried the indignant woman. 

“ My dear madame, take my advice and resign all claims upon 
Mr. Huntingford. Give up your marriage certificate, and 
whatever letters of his you may have in your possession, and 
accept the very comfortable income which your husband is 
willing to settle upon you.” 

Clara rose hastily and drew her cloak about her. Her eyes 
flashed, and her lips trembled as she looked scornfully at 
Thomas Lumley. 

“ Madame,” said the lawyer, “ will you inform me where those 
papers are? ” 

“ In faithful keeping.” 

“ May I not be permitted to see them, just to satisfy — ” 

“ No, sir, you may not. My husband is a villain of the 
deepest dye, to ask of me such a sacrifice! ” said the outraged 
woman. 

“ My dear madame,” said the lawyer, endeavoring to assume 
an air of compassion, as well as a touch of just resentment, 
“you should not blame me for following my client’s instruc- 
tions. I regret having wounded your feelings, believe me ; I 
had no such intention. Your marriage with my client is an 
unfortunate affair.” 

“Go on; pray go on, Mr. Lumley. I don’t believe that you 
have the power to offer me any greater insult.” 


26 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


“ Insult ! ” exclaimed the lawyer, a look of astonishment 
appearing upon his face. “You appear to think that every 
word I utter is an insult.” 

“Yes, sir; what greater indignity can you offer to a wife 
and mother than that which you have offered to me? I will 
starve before I will write dishonor upon the brow of my inno- 
cent child. You may tell my husband that I will unmask him. 
I shall return to Sutton. I may have to walk every step of the 
way, but return to my old home I will. My father will receive 
me and my child; his door will not be closed in our faces. I 
have been foolish, but, thank God, I have not been dishonest! 
My child shall not starve because her unnatural father wishes 
to disown her,” was Clara Richards’ indignant reply as she 
walked with a firm step from Thomas Lumley’s office. 

The lawyer certainly felt exceedingly mortified at this com- 
plete and unexpected defeat. The frown on his brow deep- 
ened. 

“ ‘ Forewarned, forearmed.’ You shall never return to Sut- 
ton to disgrace my client,” muttered the wily lawyer, and an im- 
patient ring of the bell on the office table brought Jack Law- 
rence, his confidential clerk, to his sanctum. 

Jack was as great a hypocrite as his master; yet, in all the 
nefarious transactions in which they had been mutually con- 
cerned, not a word had ever passed between them that could 
have compromised either. 

“Jack, did you see the lady who just left my office?” de- 
manded Lumley, the moment the clerk thrust his long, thin 
face into the private office of his principal. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Are you sure that you would know her again?” 

“ From a thousand; she has a look one does not often see. 
She is beautiful, but she looks to me like a woman who is not 
altogether right here,” answered the man, touching his fore- 
head significantly. 

• “You had best follow her. Jack; quietly and unobtrusively, 
of course. Poor lady! I scarcely feel easy to allow her to 
return alone. I should not be surprised to hear to-morrow 
morning that she was ill — very ill, indeed. Jack! ” 

“ Nor I, sir.” 

“ Or had destroyed herself!' added the lawyer, with emphasis, 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


27 


fixing a peculiar look upon his clerk. “ Away at once,” he con- 
tinued, “ you have no time to lose. I will add an extra sover- 
eign to your wages on Saturday for your trouble.” 

“ Thank you, sir. Any further orders? ” 

“ Knock at the door of my private office and let me know 
where the lady lives. Away with you, or you will have hard 
work to find her.” 

As Jack Lawrence entered the outer office he met Joe, the 
office boy, who had just come in. 

“Joe, which way did that lady go who just left here? Tell 
me quick,” he asked. 

“ She went toward Fleet Street, sir,” answered the boy. 

Jack put on his hat and rushed out of the office. 

“ Oh, my eye! I wonder what’s up. I bet the gov’nor and 
old Jack have put up a job on that young woman.” 

“ Don’t talk so much, Joe,” said the office clerk; “Mr. Lum- 
ley, you know, doesn’t like it.” 

“ Oh, bother! Who cares what he likes! ” 

“ Come, come, Joe, behave yourself,” returned the clerk, 
impatiently. 

At this juncture Mr. Lumley entered the office and dis- 
missed both clerk and office boy, although it wanted two hours 
to their usual time of leaving the office. 

Immediately after their departure Mr. Lumley gathered up 
his papers and deposited them carefully in the iron chest. He 
then locked the door of the outside office and proceeded to 
business. First he divested himself of his respectable white 
wig, which was as well-known in the different courts of West- 
minster as the chancellor’s wig or the crier’s voice, and 
replaced it with another of shabby black, the hair of which fell 
over his forehead and entirely altered the expression of his 
face. The next proceeding was to deepen the color of his eye- 
brows with India ink and to color his face and hands with a 
powder which gave them a swarthy, dingy hue. A spectator 
might have taken him for a good-humored, elderly gentleman 
preparing for a masquerade, or for an actor who was making 
up for a brigand. 

Next the quiet business suit of gray was exchanged for one 
of coarse, dark cloth, which being well padded, completely 
altered the appearance of the wearer; and when the brace of 


28 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


pistols, which generally hung over the chimney-piece in the 
office had been placed in his pocket, the disguise was com- 
pleted. 

He then seated himself and patiently awaited the return of 
his confidental clerk. 

Lumley had not long to wait after his preparations were 
completed. A low knock at the outer door soon announced 
that his emissary had returned. 

“ Have you followed my instructions?” demanded the man 
of law. 

“ I have, sir. The lady resides in Almonry, three doors 
from the Crown and Bear, on the left-hand side.” 

“ There is no occasion to tell me that,” replied the hypocrite, 
but who, nevertheless, was secretly delighted to obtain the in- 
formation. “ Did you suppose me ignorant of the residence of 
a client who has perfect confidence in me?” 

“ Of course not,” replied the clerk, who perfectly understood 
his master’s tactics; “ but it is a wretched place for such a lady 
—a low, damp room over a loft, and at the end of a narrow 
court, and which looks into a piece of waste ground at the 
back. It must be a very cheerless view, sir.” 

“ Very,” returned the master, to whom this information was 
invaluable. “ You saw the lady home in safety, I hope?” 

“ I did. sir.” 

“ Good evening. Jack. You had best hurry home, for, from 
the appearance of the sky, I should judge that there is a storm 
brewing.” 

“ I will take your advice; good evening, sir.” And Jack 
shuffied off down the stairs. 

As soon as his clerk had departed, Mr. Lumley sallied forth, 
carrying a large umbrella as a protection from the rain, which 
soon began to fall in torrents. He did not seem to mind the 
storm in the least, but walked rapidly until he came to the 
Horse Shoe, a low public house in St. George-in-the-Fields. It 
stood in the neighborhood of poor dwellings, which were in- 
habited by the very refuse of humanity — the scum of crime and 
dissipation. This house was the rendezvous of desperate char- 
acters of all sorts, and was kept by a man who was known as 
“ Gipsy George,” so called from his supposed descent from that 
nomadic race. But his more humble admirers styled him 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


29 


“ Mister George.” This man was greatly admired in that quar- 
ter of the town for his ferocious bearing and for his success in 
baffling the pursuit of justice. 

Some years before the opening of our story, Gipsy George 
had retired from the active duties of his profession, and only 
practiced as a physician might do — that is, when he was called 
in by some wealthy rascal in case of urgency. 

Lumley, in the course of his life, had often availed himself 
of the services of this man; although, with his usual caution, 
he never appeared before his tool without being disguised in 
the manner described, or without being well armed — he knew 
his man too well to trust him very much. 

The lawyer’s success in preventing recognition had excited 
in the breast of his instrument a sort of professional jealousy, 
and a determination that upon the very next occasion of his 
employment the name and abode of his employer should be 
ascertained, with a view to future blackmail, or a bribe for 
silence. For Gipsy George had the lawyer in his power; the 
only trouble was to identify him. 

The interior of the Horse Shoe was crowded on the night 
in question. Several of the dark-faced sons of Israel were 
seated at tables, buying and selling watches, knives, handker- 
chiefs, and other trinkets, at a price which would have made 
their original owners stare, but which, low as it was, might 
truthfully be said by the vendors to be considerably over 
“ prime cost;” the fact being that the articles were the result of 
the day’s labor of a gang of pickpockets, who generally dis- 
posed of their wares at Gipsy George’s. 

It was astonishing, the number of commercial transactions 
which took place in that low, dirty, dingy room. Diamonds, 
which but a few evenings before had blazed upon the neck of 
beauty at the West End, here changed hands, after being taken 
from their delicate settings, and sold — still over prime cost. 

A lad, known as Daring Dick, just at this moment called 
Moses Jacobs aside to show him a string of pearls. He placed 
them in the hands of the Jew, whose eyes sparkled with joy 
and cupidity as he beheld them. 

“Veil, what do you want for this rubbish?” demanded 
the Israelite, after he had carefully examined the pearls to see 
if they were real. 


30 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


“Two pounds ten, Moses; they are worth it,” answered the 
boy. 

“ Holy Moses; do you think I steal my moneys, that I 
should part with them so foolishly? No, no; if it had been 
gold it would have been different, but it is only beads As I 
am an honest man I can’t offer you more than twenty shillings.” 

When Moses Jacobs appealed to his honesty it was a settled 
thing. He had never been known to raise his price after that. 
The lad felt that he was overreached, but he pocketed the 
money which the Israelite handed him. 

At this instant a loud knock was heard at the door, which 
was always kept bolted. Instantly all was silent. The heart 
of many a listening villain sank within him; it might be a party 
of Bow Street officers. 

“ Hide the swag,” whispered Gipsy George. 

Moses Jacobs dropped the pearls into a pot of ale that 
stood before him. 

“Who’s there?” called the landlord. 

“John Brown, from Hempstead!” was the reply. 

“ All right, ” answered Gipsy George. “ A friend,” he ex- 
plained to the inmates of the house. “ I’ll be with you in a 
minute! ” he called out to his friend outside. 

The unlawful traffic was immediately resumed, and the 
respectable trader fished up his pearls. The landlord took 
a rough cap from its peg in the bar, pulled it down over his 
forehead so as to conceal his face as much as possible, tied a 
handkerchief over his mouth, and after whispering to his better- 
half to keep a sharp lookout — a task she was equal to — quitted 
the house. 


CHAPTER V. 


A DARK night's WORK. 

As he had expected, Gipsy George found Lumley waiting 
for him when he opened the outer door of the inn. 

“ Will you come in, or do you prefer to walk down a few 
blocks?” 

“Oh, ril walk and talk.” 

“ I thought so, that’s why I waited to put on my cap before 
I opened the door. Well, what’s up?” demanded the ruffian 
abruptly. 

“ Merely a little business,” replied the lawyer, in his usual 
bland tone. “A mere trifle.” 

“ Humph — a trifle! Men like you don’t leave their comfort- 
able homes on such a night as this for a trifle.” 

“ How do you know that I have a comfortable home?” 
demanded the lawyer, feeling ill at ease at once. 

“ Because your hand is white and soft; I observed it the 
last time you counted down the sovereigns you paid me for my 
last affair. And your voice is low and even. Had you slept 
in the open fields as many nights as I have, it would be rough 
like mine.” 

“You are a close observer,” was the reply. 

“I was not born yesterday,” muttered the fellow with a 
grin. “But what is it?” 

There was not the slightest need of delicacy between 
them, for they perfectly understood one another. The lawyer 
plunged at once into the subject. 

“There is a party who has some papers which I must have. 
If you can’t get the papers, why, I must have her child, 
so that she can be forced to give up the papers.” 

“Phew I” whistled the gipsy, “how am I to obtain the 
papers?” 


32 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


“ Oh, that is easy enough. She lives in a poor neighbor- 
hood, and you can enter her chamber without the slightest 
difficulty, and take either the child or the papers — it is imma- 
terial to me which.” 

“Humph ! what do I get for the job ?” 

“Fifty pounds.” 

“Should she resist?” 

“Have you not your knife?” coolly asked his respect- 
able companion. 

“Do you mean,” questioned Gipsy George, fairly taken 
aback by this coolness, “that I am to cut her throat ?” 

“Not unless it is necessary.” 

“Necessary! Upon my word you are a cool hand. Would 
you lead me to murder when I had only bargained for robbery? 
The deuce take you for a shark. I would not do it for any man 
at that pricey 

The lawyer smiled to himself, and secretly admitted the 
justice of the observation. 

“ It shall be doubled in the event of an accident,” answered 
Lumley. 

For so he characterized murder. 

Evidently his companion was satisfied, for he made no 
further objection. 

“When do you want the job done?” 

“To-night; she may leave London to-morrow. You had 
better meet me at the Crown and Bear, in the Almonry, 
about midnight. The woman lives near there.” 

“All right. I’ll be there,” and Gipsy George returned to 
his inn, while the respectable lawyer walked to a chop- 
house, where he dined, read his newspaper, and then sallied 
forth to the Crown and Bear, where he was soon joined by his 
tool. 

Meanwhile the storm had increased in violence ; the wind 
howled and rain poured down in torrents. The lawyer shiv- 
ered, but the son of Romany did not heed the storm ; in fact, 
he preferred a dark night for the dark work he was about to do. 

They were soon close by the narrow court in the Almonry 
which Jack had so faithfully described. 

Here Clara Richards and her child, a beautiful babe of about 
six months, were reposing upon a cot which was covered only 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


33 


by a coarse quilt. The damp, faded garments of the wretched 
mother were spread out on chairs to dry before the remnant of 
a miserable fire, whose flickering blaze served only to make 
the squalor of the chamber more apparent. The remains of a 
loif were placed in a cracked blue plate upon the shelf, and a 
jug of water stood beside it. This had already served the poor 
victim of man’s inhumanity as food for two days. A couple 
of broken chairs completed the list of the contents of the 
room. 

Poor Clara had not the barest necessaries of life, while her 
husband fared luxuriously. Was it any wonder that she had 
resolved to walk back, like another prodigal, to her father’s 
house and denounce Harry Huntingford ? 

After her interview with the lawyer the poor girl had retur- 
ned to her wretched lodging and written a touching letter to 
her father, begging his forgiveness for her long silence, and im- 
ploring his protection for her child. Then she posted her let- 
ter, having to borrow the penny that paid for the stamp. 

She had hesitated about writing, but then she felt that 
it would be easier for her to meet her parents if they first 
knew that she was a wife and mother. Alas! she did not 
dream that she was destined never to see her old home again. 

She had retired feeling cheered by the thought that as 
soon as the weather v/ould permit, she would return to Sutton; 
then, in a deep slumber, she forgot her misery. 

The creaking of the old casement, as Gipsy George 
skillfully pressed it open, was not heard by the sleeping 
woman, drowned as it was by the pelting rain without. 

First the ruffian peeped in to see that all was right. Satis- 
fied with his scrutiny, he speedily introduced his whole person. 

The thief turned at once toward the bed, on which the babe 
slumbered in its hapless mother’s arms; even in sleep her in- 
stinctive love protected the young nestling. 

“ I shall never grab the kid without waking her!” muttered 
the intruder. 

Gipsy George was a man to prepare for all difficulties. He 
coolly drew a clasp-knife from his pocket, and finding no 
convenient place to rest his lantern, opened the keen, razor- 
like blade with his teeth. 

At this moment the sleeping woman moved slightly. 

3 


34 for love of gold. 

Gipsy George instantly shaded the light and held his breath. 

Approaching the bed, the scoundrel began to cautiously 
remove the infant from it’s mother’s arms. 

Before he had half succeeded in the execution of his design, 
the child awoke, startled either by the chill of the stranger’s 
touch or by the motion, and with its cry alarmed the mother. 

Clara awoke, gasping with surprise and terror. 

“What is it — what do you want?” she exclaimed clinging 
closely to her child. 

“Let go your hold!” answered the villain. 

“You’ll hurt my child! Do not, pray do not drag her! If 
plunder is your object, we have nothing, absolutely nothing.” 

“ I know that, it is the child I want.” 

“ Never while I have life! ” -The mother’s love was stron- 
ger than her fears. “ Help ! murder ! help ! My God ! send 
me assistance ! Help! help!” shrieked the half-frantic mother. 
“Oh, you will hurt her tender limbs! Leave me my baby; 
she is all I have!” 

Clara clung so firmly to her child that she permitted her- 
self to be dragged nearly out of bed, her maternal love supplying 
her with momentary strength. 

“Cease your squalling,” whispered Gipsy George. “The brat 
will be taken care of.” 

Despite this assurance the woman clung to her child un- 
til the ruffian struck her a blow across the arms that caused 
her hold to relax. 

Springing from her recumbent position, Clara rushed 
toward the door to alarm the neighborhood and obtain assist- 
ance, but perceiving her intention, Gipsy George caught her 
by the hair and dragged her back to the bed. 

“ Would you murder me?” she gasped. 

“Not unless you force me to,” was the significant reply. 

Driven to frenzy by the sight of her baby struggling in 
the rude clasp of the gipsy, Clara now redoubled her cries 
for aid. 

Finding that she would not be quiet, and fearing that her 
cries would eventually bring some unwelcome visitor upon 
the scene, the brute struck her a powerful blow with his fist, 
which he calculated would cause the death of the delicate 
girl. 




FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 35 

Her chest and lungs were instantly deluged with blood, and 
a bright stream oozed slowly from her lips. 

“I thought that would quiet you!” 

Poor Clara fixed her large dark eyes upon her assailant 
and pointed toward Heaven. 

The murderer understood her appeal and shuddered; his 
eyes sank beneath that gaze. 

“In a moment!” whispered Clara in a faint voice, every 
syllable of which fell upon the ear of the murderer with 
terrible distinctness. “I shall stand before the throne of 
God to accuse you at His bar. Harm not my child, lest His 
wrath overtake you. Remember,” she added, “I shall be 
there to plead for her; spare her, and I will pardon you ” 

The suffering woman, whose last thought was for her child, 
expired with that word upon her lips. 

Hastily snatching a black ribbon with a silken bag at- 
tached, which was fastened around the neck of his victim, 
Gipsy George descended from the window with his prey. 

“Have you secured the papers?” demanded the lawyer, 
who had waited impatiently for his tool in the court near 
the miserable dwelling of his victim. 

“No; but I have the brat, if that will do as well.” 

“And the mother?” 

“ I fixed her.” 

“Did you knife her?” 

“ I am not so green. She was half dead already — starved. 
I gave her but one clip, to silence her squalling, and — let us 
talk of something else; I am out of practice and getting 
squeamish, I suppose.” 

Lumley counted out a hundred sovereigns from the money 
which he had brought in a canvas bag; he could at times 
become a liberal paymaster. He then took the infant and 
concealed it under his rough coat, bade his tool good-night, 
and made the best of his way to St. James’s Park, which lay on 
his road home. 

But it was no part of Gipsy George’s policy to part 
with his employer thus. With the instinctive cunning of his 
race, the man felt that if he could but discover who his myst- 
erious patron was, the hundred sovereigns which he had just 


36 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


received would be but a small part of his remuneration for 
that night’s work. 

The crafty fellow walked rapidly for a few moments 
toward the bridge, whistling loudly as he walked. The night 
was so dark that it was impossible for him to distinguish any 
object a yard before his face. Suddenly he stopped in his 
walk, but still continued to whistle, modulating the sound 
and making it fainter and fainter, in order to convey to any 
one who might be listening in advance of him that the 
distance between them was being gradually increased. The 
instant that the note ceased the man fell to the ground, flat 
upon his face, like an Indian, and placed his ear to the ground. 

“So,” he muttered, “he has been listening. It is a prac- 
ticed hand I have to deal with; I must be cautious. Ah, 
now he moves away! ” 

Springing to his feet, the gipsy retraced his steps, 
running like a dog until he could distinguish his former com- 
panion, who was making his way rapidly toward the park. 
Like most of his race, the fellow had a quick eye in the dark. 
“Good,” he thought, “I can dodge him easily there, behind 
the trees.” 

The respectable lawyer, however, had as quick an eye as 
Gipsy George, and gave as few chances away. Rapid as was 
his pace, he still managed to turn his head from side to side, 
in order to ascertain if he was being followed. Finally he 
became convinced that such was the case. “So the bloodhound 
is on the scent,” muttered the lawyer. “Well, let him cross 
me.” 

At this moment he entered an avenue where the darkness 
was even more palpable. Concealing himself behind one of 
the trees, he drew a pistol from his pocket and carefully 
placed his forefinger on the trigger, and then waited for his 
pursuer to come up. In another moment the assassin and 
his employer were face to face. 

“ You are dogging me, ” said Lumley. 

“And what then? Suppose I am.” 

“Your motive?” 

“Mere politeness,” was the satirical reply. “I like to re- 
turn the visits of my friends.” 

“A step further,” answered the lawyer, “and you will never 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


37 


quit this park alive. Fool,” he continued, as the gipsy thrust 
his hand into his pocket for a knife. “ My revolver covers 
you, my finger is on the trigger. I have six balls at my dis- 
posal. Stir — make but the * slightest motion of your hand, 
and I will instantly blow your brains out.” 

The speaker had uttered this frightful threat in as soft a 
tone as that he used when wheedling some obstinate client or 
persuading some nervous invalid to make his will. 

“ You dare not,” answered the ruffian, doggedly." It would 
alarm the police.” 

"Pooh!” replied the respectable lawyer, "I have 
another hundred sovereigns in my pocket — know the 
police magistrates intimately — am rich ; you understand, my 
man ? Why, I should only be thanked for ridding the world 
of such a scoundrel.” 

As he spoke the rrmzzle of his revolver touched the brow of 
the gipsy. The bully was cowed ; the rich villain was too 
much for the poor one. The man shuddered as his flesh came 
in contact with the cold steel of the revolver, but he spoke not 
a word. 

"Am I to fire?” questioned the lawyer, quietly." One, 
two, three ” 

" Perhaps,” faltered the gipsy, anxious to make a decent 
retreat, "you will give me that other hundred you spoke of?” 

"Six, seven, eight,” counted the imperturable lawyer. 

"But one moment!” 

"Nine—” 

Before the fatal "ten” could be spoken the ruffian, fairly 
cowed by the coolness and resolution of the man whose phy- 
sical strength was, in comparison to his, but as that of a child, 
took to his heels, nor paused till he was beyond the reach 
of the fatal revolver. Lumley, with a quiet smile, replaced 
his weapon in its pocket and resumed his walk toward home. 

On his way thither, he debated earnestly with himself 
how he should dispose of his innocent burden. After forming 
and rejecting several plans, he finally concluded to leave the 
child, on one of the park benches. With no other covering 
than the thin night-gown in which the poor little thing had been 
enveloped when Gipsy George snatched it from the warm and 
tender clasp of its mother, Lumley felt reasonably certain that 


38 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


a night’s exposure to the rain and sleet would settle the fact 
of its death. 

Strange to say, this astute lawyer had considered it absolut- 
ely certain that he had frightened the gipsy so thoroughly that 
there was not the slighest danger of his continuing the pursuit. 
But he reckoned without his host. The gipsy ran for a short 
distance and then waited for about twenty minutes, when he 
retraced his stef)s. As he passed the spot where he had last 
seen his employer, he walked softly and looked about him 
carefully. Presently he caugh sight of something white on 
one of the benches ; a moment after he heard an infant’s 
feeble cry. In another second Gipsy George had picked up 
the child which the lawyer had left there to perish. 


CHAPTER VI. 


AT THE INQUEST. 

On the morning after poor Clara Richards had been mur- 
dered, Mr. Lumley sent Jack Lawrence to watch what passed 
at the obscure lodging of the unfortunate girl. 

The artful messenger was too wary, and understood too 
thoroughly his business, to ask any direct questions of his em- 
ployer, but he had an instinctive knowledge that something 
serious had occurred. 

So he entered the little public house of the Almonry with 
an unconcerned air 

The little parlor was full. . 

“A pipe and some ale,” demanded Jack. 

He had to repeat the order twice before he was served. 
The pot-boy was occupied in relating some apparently interest- 
ing event to a tall dark-looking woman, who was respectably 
but rather tawdrily dressed. She was evidently a neighbor, for 
she was without a bonnet, and she had a large door-key on the 
forefinger of her left hand. 

The woman in question was no other than Sally George, 
the wife of Gipsy George, and she had been sent by her hus- 
band on the same errand as that which brought the lawyer’s 
clerk to that locality, and she was exceedingly well gotten up 
for the occasion. 

Several of the habitual idlers of the Almonry and also two 
or three soldiers were present, as well as a bustling little fellow, 
who proved to be the coroner’s clerk. 

Jack Lawrence’s ears were open to catch all that transpired. 

“It was no murder,” said the pot-boy, who, having been the 
first person to enter the room, was an important witness; “there 
was not a mark upon her. My belief is she was starved. 
She looked real respectable, but I know she was very poor. 
Why, she borrowed the price of a postage-stamp from my 

89 


40 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


missus the night before she died. She was mighty pretty, too, 
poor gall” 

“ If the woman died from natural causes, what is the use of 
a coroner’s inquest?” questioned the woman with the key. 

“To put the parish to an expense,” answered a little tailor. 

“She had a little baby — a sweet little lamb — what’s become, 
of it?” put in another woman who was present. 

“Perhaps she sold it to get grub,” said another of the crowd 

“ Bah!” ejaculated Jack Lawrence. 

“ Bah!” as much as you like, mister; there’s more things 
happen in London than anyone knows of,” remarked a by- 
stander. 

Meanwhile Sally George had finished her ale and left the 
parlor of the Crown and Bear. 

She was followed in a few moments by a man who had 
the appearance of a hackney coachman, and he was well 
dressed for the part. He found the woman waiting outside for 
him. 

“You saw that fellow sitting in the corner?” she whispered. 

The man gave a knowing wink, as much as to say, “Didn’t I ?” 

“Follow nim, Mike; there’s money to be earned. He’s 
something to the other cove who came after my husband last 
night, or my name’s not Sally George.” 

“Ay, ay, missus, I know my trade. He must be an artful 
dodger if he escapes me. Few coves ever gave me the go-by. 
I’ll run him to earth, never fear.” 

The speaker was one of the most successful cracksmen in 
London. 

Gipsy George, like his employer. Lawyer Lumley, had his 
agents, and he was quite as faithfully served. 

The coroner having arrived, he succeeded in impaneling a 
jury, and they proceeded at once to view the corpse. 

The lawyer's clerk, the woman with the key, and also many 
of the neighbors, followed in their wake. 

They found the body of the once beautiful Clara Richards 
stretched upon the floor of the desolate chamber, just as her 
murderer had left her, and with her long black hair clotted 
with the blood that had flowed from her mouth after she had 
received that terrible blow from the fist of Gipsy George. Her 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


41 


face wore a calm and placid expression, and there was almost 
a smile about her lips. 

"This is no murder!” exclaimed Dr. Bishop, the parish 
surgeon, who had been called in. "She has broken a blood 
vessel, and died from exhaustion, nothing more!” 

Sally George breathed freely, and Jack Lawrence chuckled 
in his sleeve. 

" I am quite sure,” went on the son of Esculapius, " certain. 
You see, gentlemen,” he continued, turning over the body 
with professional indifference, " there is not a wound or 
mark upon her person. The blood has flowed from her lungs 
— arterial blood. Case is clear; she died from the rupture of 
a blood-vessel.” 

The jury rendered a verdict in accordance with the phy- 
sician’s opinion without much hesitation; they were all 
anxious to return to their business ; and the remains were 
ordered to be interred at the expense of the parish. 

The clerk immediately made his way toward Temple 
Bar. Once or twice during his hurried walk down the 
Strand, Jack noticed a half-drunken coachman, who could 
scarcely keep his legs, but the man was lost sight of long be- 
fore he reached TempleBar. The coachman had, however, fol- 
lowed him at a respectful distance, and just as he was about to 
enter the Temple, the man asked a porter who stood near by, 
if he could tell him who that man was who had just passed 
him. 

"Oh, I’ve known him by sight for about ten years. 
He’s Lawyer Lumley’s head clerk, and they do say he’s a 
greater rogue than his master.” 

" Very likely,” returned the coachman, carelessly, as he 
passed on. 

Lawyer Lumley and Gipsy George were equally well satis- 
fied with the morning’s report. 

Among those who carlessly trampled the next day over the 
humble little grave in the paupers’ burial place, not one even 
guessed how warm had been the heart, how true the love, or 
how sad the lot of her who slept beneath. And what matt- 
ered it after all ? She slept as well as if she had been shrouded 
in satin, and her last resting-place had been the Huntingford 
vault. 


42 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


Lawyer Lumley sent a telegram to Hariy Huntingford, 
requesting him to call at once. As Huntingford was in 
Sutton, did he not receive the dispatch until the following 
day, when he lost no time in going to the lawyer’s office. 

“Well, Lumley, what has happened? Has Clara accepted 
your terms, and consented to a quiet divorce ? ” 

“A divorce will not be necessary, Mr. Huntingford.” 

“What do you mean?” questioned the young man. 

“Clara Richards is dead,” answered Lumley with a profess- 
ionally serious look. “I told you she could not hold out 
long.” 

“Dead!” repeated Harry Huntingford, a slight change 
appearing on his face. “How? Not by violence^” 

“There was no need of violence. She looked so thin and 
delicate the day she called here, that I felt certain that her 
days were numbered ; she was evidently in a decline.” 

Harry shuddered at these words, and uttered a deep 
groan. For a moment his conscience smote him. 

“And the child?” he asked after a litle time. 

“ Provided for at present. Here is an account of the in- 
quest in this morning’s paper.” 

By the time the newly made widower had read the short, 
business-like report of the event which so nearly concerned 
him, he began to feel that he was indeed a lucky man thus to 
regain his freedom. 

“Mr. Huntingford, now that your wife has been so obliging 
as to die, and has been buried by the parish without any 
expense to you, and without leaving a clew to the fact that 
she was your unacknowleged wife, I beg to know what yoii 
intend to do in regard to Woodstock? As I told you before, 
if I had a son he should be master of the estate; failing 
in that, my daughter must be its mistress.” 

“Upon my soul, Lumley, I don’t care about married life. 
I found Clara very lovable, but after a time I grew tired of 
the poor little girl — very tired: I found the whole thing a 
bore.” 

“ If you prefer ruin, disgrace, dishonor; and shame to 
marrying an innocent girl, whose fortune would set you 
straight in the world, very well; it is at your own option. But 
if you refuse to make my daughter Mrs. Harry Huntingford, 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


43 


in a few months she will be known as Miss Lumley, of Wood- 
stock, and you will have gained nothing by your refusal.” 

“ By Jove, Lumley, I don’t understand why you should 
have picked me out for a son-in-law ! I tell you the truth, I 
don’t feel that I ought to marry any woman. I am a sad 
scapegrace, but I have grace enough to feel ashamed of saving 
myself by marrying a young girl simply and solely for her 
fortune.” 

And he told the truth; he was ashamed of himself. Clara’s 
untimely end worried him more than he would admit ; and, 
besides, he was in the power of the Italian, who made him 
feel his chains. Rotunno, he knew, was not to be trusted. 
In view of all this, Harry Huntingford felt that he had no 
right to join his life to that of any woman. 

” My dear Mr. Huntingford, as I told you before, I could 
marry my daughter to some one of your titled friends ; in 
fact, there are several from among whom I could make my 
choice. I prefer you. Your family is one of the oldest in 
England, and at no distant day you may inherit your father’s 
title. Your brother, Clement, may die.” 

“ Clement stands a much better chance of living than I do, 
Lumley. He’s as strong as a plowman.” 

“ But he is a traveler.” 

” Pshaw ! How many men travel all their lives, and yet live 
to a good old age ?” 

” True,” answered Lumley, absently. 

He thought that if he could arrange matters to suit him, 
Clement Huntingford’s span of life would not be very long. 

“ If you like I will call for you to-morrow, and we will go 
out to Richmond together. Dine with us. I will introduce 
you to my daughter, who is considered a beauty,” said the 
lawyer. 

“ I accept your invitation with pleasure ; and if Miss Lum- 
ley likes me I will marry her.” 

“ My dear fellow, she could not possibly object to you,” 
answered the lawyer, with a smile, as he gazed on the hand- 
some man before him. 

“ I don’t know about that. She may not like me ; but if she 
does I will marry her, and I will try to be a better husband to 
her than I was to poor Clara.” 


44 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


“ In that case I shall be able to also congratulate you upon 
being a wealthy man.” 

Harry Huntingford accepted the lawyer’s congratulations 
with a graceful bow, and very soon took his departure from 
the office. Then he wandered down to the miserable part ot 
the city where his wife had lived and died. 

By a strange chance he entered the Crown and Bear, and 
inquired of the pot-by who served him if he could give him 
any information of a lady who had been found dead in hei 
lodging within a few days. 

“ Oh, yes, sir ; I was the first one that saw her.” 

And the boy then proceeded to give the stranger a full ac- 
count of the affair, including the inquest ; he had no doubt 
that the man was a reporter for the newspapers. 

“ Would you like to see her grave, sir ?” he finallyinquired. 

“ I should, my lad.” 

“Wait a moment; “I’ll ask missus’ leave, and I’ll take 
you there.” 

The boy was astonished to see how pale the gentleman’s 
face became at the sight of poor Clara’s last resting-place. 
They did not remain long at its side, however. Harry soon 
dismissed the boy with a half-crown, and left the spot haunted 
by remorse. 


CHAPTER VII. 




THE UNJUST ACCUSATION. 

The large, loud-voiced clock over the stables struck nine, 
announcing to all whom it concerned that the breakfast hour 
of Sir Charles Huntingford, of Sutton Court, Surrey, had 
arrived. 

Sutton Court was a glorious old place, lying deep down in a 
Surrey woodland; a vast and stately mansion, surrounded by 
tall trees through which the bright rays of a June’s morning’s 
sun was at this moment playing hide-and-seek. 

Within, a breakfast table, spread with snowy napery, spark- 
ling with crystal, rich with silver, and gay with tall glasses of 
June roses, stood ready and waiting for the master. 

Presently Sir Charles Huntingford and his sister entered 
the breakfast room; they were scarcely seated at the table 
before Clement and Harry Huntingford made their appear- 
ance. While Miss Huntingford poured the tea and coffee, 
the male portionof the family became absorbed in the contents 
of their morning’s mail. 

In appearance. Sir Charles was tall and portly, with an 
upright, dignified bearing, fine face and head, and of a florid 
complexion. Upon the whole he was a handsome man. 

Sir Charles had been twice a widower. His first wife died 
in giving birth to his eldest son, Clement; his second wife — a 
celebrated beauty, and a spoiled child of fashion, whom he 
had passionately loved — lived to see her only child grow 
into a handsome, dissipated youth. 

On her death bed this frivolous woman first found herself 
questioning the wisdom of her course with her son; for in 
all her life it had never occurred to her to exercise any restraint 
over him, or to teach him to exercise any over himself. 

It almost seemed as though the heart of the loving but 
foolish mother felt a presentiment of the unpardonable folly 


45 


46 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


and wickedness into which her son would be led. It was well 
for her that she did not live to know the truth. 

But to return to our family party. Breakfast was nearly 
over when a footman entered and announced that farmer 
Richards was without and was anxious to see Sir Charles on 
business. 

When the servant spoke Harry Huntingford started, and 
his face grew pale and then flushed deeply. Naturally his 
thoughts turned to poor Clara. Above all things he dreaded 
exposure, and this visit from her father alarmed him. 

“ Show Richards into the library and tell him I’ll be with 
him in a few moments.” 

“ Do not foi^et to ask him, brother, if he has heard 
anything of his daughter,” said Miss Huntingford, kindly. 

“ I will try and remember to do so,” answered the baronet, 
as he rose from the table and left the room. 

“ I sincerely hope, aunt, that Richards has heard something 
of his daughter; it seems a great shame that they have not 
been able to find out what her fate has been. She was such 
a pretty little creature,” said Clement Huntingford, a hand- 
some young Englishman, with a finely proportioned form, dark 
blue eyes and regular features. He was a trifle taller than his 
brother Harry, and resembled his father strongly in appearance. 

“ It is my opinion that she eloped with some one of the 
gentlemen’s sons who were such frequent visitors to her 
father’s house. They were constantly there, on some plea or 
other.” 

“ You are quite right, aunt,” answered Clement, with a 
smile. “ I have often begged for a glass of milk, in order to 
be able to enjoy the pleasure of a chat with pretty little Clara.” 

Miss Huntingford answered the speaker with a loving smile. 
He was her favorite nephew. She had been like a mother to 
him ; in fact, she was the only mother he had ever known, and 
Clement loved and honored her as he might have done a 
mother. 

In her youth Miss Huntingford had been a very beautiful 
girl, and she was yet a fine-looking woman. In general 
appearance she was not unlike her brother. She was tall and 
rather slight. Her blond tresses were now slightly streaked 
with gray, but she retained the youthful freshness of her com- 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 47 

plexion. She had a clear-cut, handsome face, and the dark- 
blue eyes which characterized the Huntingford family. 

While the party at the breakfast-table were still discussing 
the disappearance from Sutton of Clara Richards, which had 
taken place a year and half ago, the footman entered and said: 

“ Sir Charles wished me to request the presence of the 
young gentlemen in the library.” 

” I wonder what father wants,” said Clement. “ Come, 
Harry,” he continued, “let us go and see.” And the two 
brothers left the room together. 

When they entered the library they saw at a glance that 
something unusual had happened. Sir Charles looked excited. 
Beside him stood Farmer Richards, a sturdy, middle-aged 
man, whose honest, dark-brown eyes were red from much 
weeping ; he had shed the first tears that had fallen from his 
eyes for many long years during the past few days. When 
the two young men entered the room, a look of suppressed 
rage crossed his face, and the scowl on his brow deepened. 

The guilty conscience of Harry Huntingford at once ac- 
cused him. He realized that he was about to be called to 
account for his treatment of Clara, but he was fully determined 
not to commit himself in any way, shape or manner; so he 
forcibly recovered his self-possession and assumed his usual 
nonchalant manner. 

“My worthy friend, Richards, has called here this morning 
to accuse one of you of a serious offense ; an offense of which 
I had never imagined a son of mine could be guilty,” said 
Sir Charles, addressing his sons. “We have all wondered,” 
he continued, “at the mysterious disappearance of his lovely 
daughter. It appears that one of my sons could have relieved 
the anxious hearts of the farmer and his wife, had he been so 
inclined.” 

Sir Charles looked at Clement, who in turn stared at his 
father as if he could not believe his ears. 

“ Upon my honor, father ” 

“Hush, sir!” sternly interrupted the baronet, “you have 
no right to call your honor into question. Read that letter.” 

An angry flush mounted to Clement Huntingford’s face. 
His father, with his usual injustice, had settled at once upon 
his guilt. It was the old story — he had always to suffer for 


48 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


the sins of his younger brother, who was his father’s favorite. 
He took the letter which his father held out, however, and ran 
his eye rapidly over its contents. It read as follows: 

“ Dear Parents: When I left home I was married to one 
far above me in rank, and therefore I was obliged to be silent. 

“ The past eighteen months have seemed to me an age, for 
I have so longed for a sight of your faces. I am coming to 
pay you a visit, perhaps to remain with you if you will allow 
me. I am coming if I have to walk every step of the way. I 
want you to see my little Alice, whom I have named after 
you, dear mother. 

“Ah! I was a thoughtless girl, without a care, when I was 
with you. I left home without a word, not thinking of the pain 
it would cause you, my kind loving parents. But God has pun- 
ished me, for the gentleman who is my husband is ashamed 
of me; he is sorry he ever married me, and he sayss that his 
father will disown him if he discovers our marriage. I do not 
believe that he would. Sir Charles Huntingford is too just for 
that. I am his son’s wife; my darling baby is his grandchild. 

“ I have my marriage certificate to prove to you that I am 
an honest woman. Thank heaven, dear father and mother, I 
am not ashamed to look you in the face. I am very poor; my 
husband has refused to give me any money unless I give up 
all claim on him as his wife. Therefore, dear father, if you 
can come to London and bring me home, please do so, for I 
have not been feeling well for a long, long time. Perhaps I 
shall die soon. I shall be happy if I can place my dear little 
girl in your arms; I know you will watch over her. She may 
repay your care better than I have done. 

“ With a great deal of love I remain 

“Your affectionate daughter, 

“ Clara Huntingford.” 

Clement read this simple letter with a feeling of the deep- 
est pity, and said, as he passed it to his brother: 

“ Harry, you may be able to explain the contents of this 
letter; I cannot.” 

Harry glanced carelessly over the contents of the letter and 
returned it to his father, saying: 

“ I have not the honor of being Clara Richards’ husband” 

He told this shameful falsehood calmly, and without 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


49 


changing color, for he had prepared himself to face the 
inevitable. 

“ It is just as I thought, Sir Charles; neither of the young 
gentlemen will acknowledge my girl’s claim on them. She will 
never trouble you; she is dead. I am told that she died 
miserably — alone in a poor lodging — and was buried in a 
pauper’s grave. But I had her taken up, and I brought all 
that remains of my poor girl back with me to the home she 
wanted so much to reach. To-morrow she will have a decent 
burial, please God. But I came here to tell the scoundrel who 
brought her to her grave that I want my grandchild. I would 
not trust a decent dog with a man who could treat a woman so 
shamefully, much less a tender, innocent child.” 

“You are right, Richards; by Heaven, you are right!” said 
the indignant father. “For the first time in my life I am 
ashamed of the name I bear. Clement, where is your child?” 

“ I tell you, father, that I am innocent. I am not the hus- 
band of that poor girl, nor the father of her child.” 

“Yet you went up to London with her the night she left 
Sutton. I was told so by one of the porters at the railway 
depot,” said the farmer. 

“I did go to London with her, Mr. Richards. She asked me 
if she might ride in the same carriage with me, because she 
was afraid to travel alone. Of course I could not refuse her 
request. When we arrived in London I put her in a cab and 
told the driver to take her to the address that she gave me. I 
never saw her from that hour to this.” 

Harry Huntingford shrugged his shoulders as he listened 
to his brother’s words, and a strange, exultant smile lit up his 
face. 

“Satan is good to his own” in this world. Circumstantial 
evidence condemned Clement and shielded his guilty brother. 

“Clement, your own words condemn you,” exclaimed his 
father passionately. “Why did you not speak before of your 
having gone up to London with Clara Richards?” 

“ Because I had forgotten the matter until this moment,” 
answered the young man, frankly. 

“If yob will only give me my grandchild I will forgive 
you all,” said the farmer imploringly. 

“ My dear sir, I can only repeat that I am not the father of 
4 


50 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


your grandchild. I know nothing of the whole matter except 
what I have just told you.” 

“How dare you tell such a falsehood? You have wronged 
Pichards enough already; give him the child,” was Sir Charles’ 
command. 

“ I tell you, father, I am innocent of the crime of which you 
suspect me. I claim to be a gentleman. I should scorn to 
tell a lie in such a matter as this.” 

“Brazen it out, young gentleman. I came here to demand 
my grandchild. You will not give her to me; but as true as 
there is a God in heaven I’ll find her if she is alive, and I’ll 
discover which of you young gentlemen wronged my poor 
girl. Her good name shall be preserved. She was the lawful 
wife of one of you, deny it as you may.” 

“He picked up the letter which was lying on Sir Charles’ 
writing table, put his hat on, and walked from the room 
without another word. 

“You have wronged me deeply, sir,” said Clement Hunting- 
ford to his father. “I am sorry that you could believe me 
capable of such baseness.” 

“ I am deeply grieved by your conduct, Clement,” was 
all the answer vouchsafed by the stern baronet, as he passed 
out of the library. 

Harry Huntingford stood near the chimney-piece, leaning 
one arm on it, and gazing at his brother with a sardonic sort of 
smile. 

The fact was that he hated Clement at that moment, and he 
was glad to see him the innocent victim of the sin he himself^ 
had committed. 

Clement came slowly forward and stopped directly opposite 
his brother at the other end of the mantel. How handsome 
and noble he looked, even now, smarting as he was under 
a sense of deep injury. 

“ Harry,” he said, “ have you no spark of honor left, that 
you can calmly see me suffer for your sin? Clara Richards 
was your wife.” 

“Indeed! And do you think I was such a fool as to make 
Farmer Richards’ daughter Mrs. Harry Huntingford? Per- 
haps she told you all her secrets during that interesting 
journey to London?” 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


51 


She told me nothing. She was as true to you as you have 
been false to her. Clara Richards went to London to become 
your wife. If ever a heart was broken it was hers. By Heaven, 
Harry, it was a cruel shame! If you had murdered her in cold 
blood you could not have been more her murderer than you 
are as it is. It seems to me that if you had one spark of man- 
hood left, you would atone for the wrong you have done, and 
give her child to that broken-hearted father.” 

“ He did not ask me for the child, but you.” 

“Hush! I entreat that you will not soil your lips with 
any more untruths. Through your brotherly kindness our 
father believes me guilty of your sin. I do not wonder at his 
blindness; from the hour that your mother married my father 
I was only tolerated. You were the Isaac, I the Ishmael; you 
were petted and caressed, while I was hated — I, the unlicked 
cub of a dead mother, who had been taken for her money only. 
So be it! I shall leave England before the week is out, and I 
leave my justification to time.” And Clement left the room 
hastily, afraid of the extent to which his wrath might take him 
if he trusted himself another moment in the presence of his 
brother. 

He at once sought his aunt, and poured out the whole 
shameful story to her. 

“Oh, Clement,” pleaded Miss Huntingford, while tears of 
sympathy stood in her eyes, “forgive your father; he is blinded 
by his affection for your brother.” 

“Justice, justice, aunt ! I am innocent ! I claim to be a 
gentleman, and do you think I could tell this base lie ? ” 

“ Your brother is the guilty one ; it is not you, Clement. I 
know the nobleness of your nature too well to doubt you for 
an instant.” 

“ Thank you, my dear, kind friend, my more than mother, 
for the trust you feel in me !” was Clement’s reply. Her con- 
fidence in him was indeed a balm to his wounded heart. 

“I shall leave Sutton by the next train; it is impossible 
for me to remain here under the circumstances. I will keep 
you informed of my movements from time to time.” 

“ Oh, my dear boy, do not take it so to heart ; I am sure 
that everything will come out right. I hate to have you leave 
us so soon again.” 


52 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


With loving words and tender kisses Clement bade his 
aunt good-bye, and an hour afterward he had left Sutton 
Court without saying farewell to another soul. 


N 


CHAPTER VIII. 


NEWS FROM HOME. 

Two years have passed since Clement Huntingford, smart- 
ing under a sense of his father’s injustice, had turned his back 
upon Sutton Court. In that time he had wandered over the 
diamond-fields of Africa, and had returned to Cape Town to 
see if there might not be a letter awaiting him there from his 
aunt. He felt the yearning for tidings from home by which 
wanderers from every clime so often find themselves oppressed. 

The young man had been in Cape Town about a week 
when he one day met with an Irishman whom he had formerly 
befriended in the mines. The man had been ill and in want of 
money to buy the necessaries of life, and Charles Hartley — the 
name that Clement Huntingford had assumed when he left 
England — had kindly loaned him fifty pounds. 

“Mr. Hartley,” said Pat Malone, “I am about to return to 
England, where I left my wife and family. I have earned my 
passage-money, and I have my diamonds. Tell me where to 
find you in six months’ time and I’ll send you the money you 
so kindly loaned me.” 

“Don’t trouble yourself, Pat; I do not need it at present.” 

“Thank you, your honor, you’re a real gentleman. I am 
going down to the dock; to the Lily of the Valley; my 
partner, Jack Long, promised to meet me there.” 

“Very well, Pat, I will go along with you as far as the post- 
office. I expect letters from home.” 

Arriving at the post office. Hartley went in and inquired 
for letters for Clement Huntingford. To his surprise 
the clerk handed him a letter bordered and sealed with black; 
and directed in his auut’s handwriting. Clement broke 
the seal hastily and learned to his surprise and grief that 
his father had died very suddenly. His aunt implored her 

53 


54 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


nephew to return to England immediately; his presence was 
absolutely necessary there. 

Clement Huntingford’s grief at the loss of his father was 
great; doubly so because there had been estrangement between 
them, and because his father had died in the belief that his 
eldest son was a cowardly scoundrel. 

Huntingford returned at once to his hotel, packed his 
luggage, paid his bill, and after sending his trunks to the 
steamer, started to the ticket office. The scene here was an 
animated one; natives, Jews, Englishmen, foreigners of every 
description throng the dock at the departure of a homeward- 
bound steamer. 

In the midst of the confusion a Frenchman, who was 
known a» Victor Le Grand, was rushing distractedly hither 
and thither, evidently looking for some particular person in 
the crowd. Presently he came upon Isidore J acobs, just as he was 
about to step on board the Lily of the Valley. The French- 
man grabbed him and whispered something in the Jew’s ear 
that made that individual start and turn pale for an instant. 

“Holy Moses! What an escape!” 

“ I was so nervous when I found out the mistake I had 
made in those boxes, that I rushed down here to prevent your 
going on the steamer.” 

“You’re an honest fellow, Le Grand; I’ll say that for you! 
Some men would have thought it a good thing to get a part- 
ner out of the way. You could have claimed the whole of 
the insurance m ney then, you know; my share and all.” 

The Frenchman shrugged his shoulders. 

“ I am not so clever as you are in that branch of the busi- 
ness,” was his reply. 

“It’s my father who has the brains,” returned the Jew, 
not noticing the sarcasm of the other. “ He was the first one 
to think of the scheme,” he continued, with evident filial 
pride. 

“Ah, he’s a genius! It’s a risky game; but it is a profit- 
able one.” 

“ Do you think the clocks will strike on time?” 

“ I am sure of it. Did I not try the experiment a hund- 
red times so as to be certain, and leave nothing to chance? If 
it’s a failure we will both suffer.” 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


55 


‘•How came you to put the clocks in these boxes?” 

“Because I understood you to say that you wanted ’em 
to go to the Lily of the Valley, and the real diamonds in the 
next steamer.” 

“ Well, it doesn’t make any particular difference,” ans- 
wered Jacobs, unable to repress the feeling so natural to his 
race, of regret for any unnecessary expenditure of money, 
“ only I shall have to lose my passage money.” 

“ You’d better sacrifice your money than your life,” was the 
slightly contemptuous reply.” 

“You’re right, my boy! But I must get my trunk, or I 
will have a silent witness against me if the steamer shouldn’t 
blow up.” 

“Yes; and you had better hurry up and get it,” answered 
the Frenchman. “We cannot be too careful; if the insurance 
people should suspect us, we stand a good chance to die with 
a rope around our necks.” 

Just as Jacobs was putting his foot on the gang-plank, he 
was met by Pat Malone. 

“Sure, you are just the man I want to see!” was Pat’s 
greeting. 

“ Let me pass; I have no time to talk to you.” 

“ Faix, and you can’t pass until you settle that little bill 
that you owe me.” 

“ Bosh! I don’t owe you anything.” 

“ Indeed you do; and you ain’t going to beat me out of my 
just rights. No sir, Mr. Jacobs, you have a convenient mem- 
ory; but I’ll try and help you remember the little matter.” 

“ What matter? What do you mean?” 

“ Faix, I mean business, Mr. Jacobs. I want to be paid for 
carrying them boxes on board the steamer this morning. You 
said that their contents was valuables Faix, they were heavy 
enough to be packed with gold! You promised to pay me 
well for the job if I didn’t let one of the boxes fall. Sure 
I carried them on board one by one, and handled ’em as care- 
fully as a new-born baby!” 

. “ Oh, I had forgotten all about the boxes,” answered 

Jacobs, carelessly. “ Here’s your money,” he continued, hand- 
ing Malone two five-pound notes. ‘‘You did the work very 
well indeed.” 


56 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


“You’re a real gentleman, and no mistake,” replied the 
delighted Irishman, as he pocketed the notes. 

Jacobs answered only with a smile; a strange, sinister 
smile, and passed up the gang-plank and on board the steamer 
to remove his trunk. 

At this moment Charley Hartley spied Malone, who was 
rolling the bills in his hands as he walked along the dock. 
Hartley looked excited; his face was flushed, and he caught 
Malone by the arm when he came up with him. 

“ Malone,” he said, “you’ll have to pay me that money 
which I loaned you. I am sorry to have to ask you for it, but 
circumstances have made it impossible for me to wait for the 
remittance which will not arrive before another week.” 

“ But you said only an hour ago that you should not want 
the money for six months yet.” 

“ So I did ; but then I had not heard of my father’s death. My 
presence is required at home immediately. I must sail in 
the Lily of the Valley, Pat, and I have only a few pounds left.” 

“ Sure, I am a poor man, Mr. Hartley. I think you might 
berrow the money.” 

“ I cannot do that; I know no one in Cape Town of whom 
I would ask the favor, and besides I have no time to waste. 
The steamer sails in half an hour and I must sail in her. In 
your hour of need I gave you a helping hand, and now I 
ask you simply to pay your debt, or part of it. I saw a gentle- 
man hand you some money only a moment ago — you have 
it in your hand now. Give me the notes, or I will take 
theml” 

The miner simply laughed at the gentleman’s threat. 

“Take them if you can!” he replied tauntingly. 

The young Englishman sprung forward instantly and caught 
the miner by the throajt with his right hand, holding him 
with a grip of steel, while with the left hand he caught the 
man’s wrist, his eyes flashing with a fierce light. 

“Will you give me these notes?” he asked, while his grasp 
upon the miner’s throat tightened perceptibly, and poor Ma- 
lone grew purple in the face. 

The struggle was a short one. Malone handed over the 
notes in haste, saying as he regained his breath: 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 57 

“ Sure, I didn’t think you could do it. Faix, you very 
nearly choked me, man ! ” 

“ I should not have touched you, Pat, if you had behaved 
decently,” was the stern reply, as he rushed off to the ticket- 
office, which was on the deck. 

Here he was informed that every place had been taken; but 
just as the clerk spoke Le Grand came in, and hearing what 
the clerk said, he told him that Mr. Jacobs had just received a 
telegram from his partner in London, and would not be able 
to go in the Lily of the Valley, but must wait for the next 
steamer. 

“ Perhaps you could take his place, sir ; I see you want a 
berth,” he said, turning to Clement. 

“Yes ; it is necessary for me to return to England at once.” 

“ Come with me, sir ; I’ll find Jacob’s, and I am sure you 
can take his place.” 

“ Thanks,” answered Clement ; and with a bow to the clerk 
he left the office with Le Grand. 

Presently they came across Isidore Jacobs, who was on the 
dock giving directions to the porter to take his trunk back to 
the hotel. 

“ My friend Jacobs, Mr. Hartley,” said Le Grand. “ Jacobs, 
this gentleman wants to return to England on the steamer. 
He can take your place.” 

“ Ah, I shall be delighted to oblige Mr. Hartley. I am 
compelled at the last moment to remain in Cape Town.” 

“ I shall only be too glad to take your berth, but I cannot 
pay you the full amount of your ticket until I reach Lon- 
don. I’ll give you ten pounds down, and an order on my 
banker in London for the balance, if that will suit you. I 
have very little money about me, and I am unable to wait for 
remittances which will not arrive until next week. I have 
just heard of the sudden death of my father, and I must re- 
turn as soon as possible.” 

“All right, sir; the arrangement suits me. I sail by the 
next steamer.” 

Hartley, as he was called, wrote an order on Baring 
Brothers, bankers, London, and signed it “ Clement Hart- 
ley Huntingford, ’’saying, as he handed it to Jacobs: 

“ There, that will pay the balance.” 


58 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


“That’s as good as gold, sir; I only wish I had an order 
for a thousand pounds on Barings. It is a good old house.” 

The steamer’s whistle, shrill and sharp, interrupted them, 
and Hartley said hastily: 

“ I am under great obligations to both of you for your cour- 
tesy and kindness. I trust we will meet in London.” 

With a bow he left them, and ran up the gang-plank. He 
was just in time. In five minutes the Lily of the Valley was 
on her homeward way. Alas ! How many of the passengers 
would ever see their home again? See the homes which they 
looked forward with so much delight to entering again? See 
the relatives whom they loved and longed to meet, after an 
absence of months or years? 


CHAPTER IX. 


ON BOARD THE LILY OF THE VALLEY. 

Clement Huntingford felt deeply grieved at the sad tid- 
ings which his aunt’s letter communicated to him, for he was 
very much attached to his father. Sir Charles Huntingford’s 
death would not have been such a severe blow, if they had 
not parted in anger. The thought that his father had gone to 
his grave believing him to be an unprincipled scoundrel rankled 
in Clements heart. He frequently asked himself how could 
his brother allow him to suffer for his sin? His past expe- 
rience of Harry Huntingford’s honor had been singularly 
unfortunate. He had to bear the brunt of his brother’s misdeeds 
ever since he could remember. 

As he walked the deck indulging in his sad reverie, he 
caught sight of a face that made him start. At first he thought 
that he was mistaken, and he passed on; but he retraced 
his steps. On passing the young lady again, she bowed grace- 
fully, and a bright smile of recognition lit up her face. 

Clement came immediately to her side, exclaiming as he 
shook hands with her. 

“This is, indeed, a delightful surprise! I had no idea that 
you were on board!” 

“Nor did I expect to see you, Mr. Hartley,” replied 
the young lady, addressing our hero by the name under 
which she knew him. 

“To what fortunate chance do I owe your presence on 
board the Lily of the Valley?” 

“It is not a fortunate one, my dear sir; my dear friend 
Mrs. Robinson died suddenly and I am returning to England 
in company with her little daughter and Major Robinson, who 
has obtained a long leave of absence.” 

“I am very sorry to hear of my friend’s demise. I am 

69 


6o 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


called home by the death of my father. I only received the 
news an hour before the steamer sailed." 

“How sad!” exclaimed Mary Blythe as a look of sympathy 
passed over her expressive face. 

“I am sure you sympathize with me,” sighed Clement. 

“I do indeed,” said the young girl frankly. “I think 
death is one of the most terrible trials that we are called upon 
to bear in this world, especially when we are separated from 
our loved ones as you have been from your father. I came 
out with Mrs. Robinson as her companion and governess to 
her little daughter. I feel very sad in returning to England 
without her.” 

“You must feel so,*' replied Clement, and then he abruptly 
asked: “Do you remember the first time we met?” 

Mary Blythe’s face flushed hotly as she said, earnestly: 
“Oh, I shall never forget your prompt and kindly aid on that 
night.” 

“I only rendered you a slight service, miss,” replied 
Clement in an indifferent tone of voice as if he thought the 
affair was not of the slightest importance. 

“I shall never cease to feel grateful for your timely 
interference on that evening. I never think of the occurrence 
without a shudder. The two ruffians held me firmly when you 
came up. You knocked one down, the other ran away and 
then you went with me to the doctor’s and escorted me home.” 

“Pshaw! I did only what a gentleman should do. I called 
the next day to inquire about your friend whom you told me 
was so ill — but being informed that she was worse, I left my 
card.” 

“I have to thank you for the beautiful bouquet which you 
sent me with your card,” replied Mary Blythe smiling. 

Clement Huntingford found his young country-woman a 
most agreeable companion. Mary Blythe was a remarkable 
girl, being very intelligent, cheerful, and perfectly natural in 
her manners. She was what the sterner sex might aptly 
term a dear little woman. She was about five feet three 
inches in height and her figure was perfectly proportioned. 
The chief beauty of her face consisted in its varied expression 
and a pair of dark hazel eyes. The rest of her feautures were 
good, but they could not be termed classic. If Mary Blythe 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


6l 


had not been given perfect beauty, she possessed a strange 
magnetism with which she won hearts. 

Clement Huntingford felt himself strangely drawn to her 
from the time of his meeting with her at Cape Colony, when he 
had been fortunate enough to render her the slight service that 
she so gratefully remembered. 

Clement offered the governess his arm and they joined the 
throng promenading the deck. 

“May I ask what part of England you are from?” said 
Clement. 

“I was born in London,” replied Mary Blythe. 

“You are a cockney, then.” 

“ I suppose so. I was educated in Paris. My father, who 
was a captain in one of Her Majesty’s regiments, was ordered 
to India when I was ten years old, and I was sent to my 
aunt, who was married to a French gentleman. She had no 
children of her own, and devoted herself to my welfare 
When my father died, my mother returned to England, and as 
my father’s pension was the only means of subsistence she had, 
I determined to earn my own living and contribute to my 
mother’s support.” 

Mary Blythe told her simple story very frankly, for she 
felt she could place implicit confidence in her new friend. 

“You are a brave girl. Miss Blythe,” said Clement, as he 
gave his companion a glance of admiration. “ Do you know, 
I believe that I have met your mother at the house of a mut- 
ual friend in Sutton, Surrey. I remember being introduced to 
Mrs. Blythe.” 

“Ah!” exclaimed Mary Blythe. “ You certainly must have 
seen my dear mother, for we live in Sutton.” 

“ Really, I was born there.” 

They continued to converse about a great many people 
whom they were both acquainted with, when Mary Blythe 
asked him “if he had ever met Clara Richards?” 

“Yes, some years ago.” 

“She was one of the most beautiful girls I ever saw.” 

“She was, indeed,” sighed Clement, as he thought of her 
sad fate. 

“ My mother wrote to me that she is dead. Also that she 


62 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


was married to Sir Charles Huntingford’s eldest son Clement, 
who deserted her and left her to die alone in London. 

Hot indignant blood flushed the young man’s face and then 
he became ghastly pale. For some minutes he did not dare to 
speak lest he should betray his identity; not deeming it pru- 
dent that he should make a confidante of Mary Blythe, as 
he was afraid that she was already prejudiced against the 
man who, she imagined, had so basely deserted Clara 
Richards. 

When his self-control returned to him, he said earnestly: 

“ Miss Blythe, I am afraid that you may deem it strange if 
I were to tell you that I know Clement Huntingford to be 
incapable of such baseness. He was never married to Clara 
Richards, and was accused most unjustly both by Farmer 
Richards and his own father.” 

“I know nothing about the case, Mr. Hartley, only what 
my mother wrote me. She merely gave me the general gos- 
sip of the neighborhoood, as she heard it; but my mother thought 
Sir Charles Huntingford's younger son was the real offender.” 

“Take my word for it. Miss Blythe, your mother is right, 
but what gave her such an opinion?” 

“Oh, I suppose Miss Huntingford gave her version of the 
affair. Clement, you know, is her favorite nephew.” 

“ He ought to be, for she was a mother to him. Harry had 
a mother’s love which Clement never knew.” 

“Are they half-brothers?” 

“Yes, Clement is almost five years older than Harry. Did 
you say that your mother and Miss Huntingford were friends?” 

“Yes; very intimate ones. They were schoolmates and 
always corresponded, even when my mother was in India. 
It was through Miss Huntingford’s advice that we hired a house 
in Sutton. Do you know her?” 

“I have met her,” replied Clement, while a strange smile lurked 
around the corners of his mouth. 

“ She is the dearest, sweetest old lady in the world ex- 
cept my own dear mother,” said Mary, with real enthusiasm. 

“Yes; she is indeed, a noble woman,” assented Clement. 

The various couples who had kept them company on the 
deck had dropped off one by one, and Mary Blythe, seeing 
that they were almost the only stro]J.ers left, said: 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


63 


“ It must be very late.” 

“ Not very, it is only eleven o’clock,” replied Clement, look- 
ing at his watch. 

“Quite late enough for me to say good-night, Mr. Hartley,” 
and with a smile and a slight bow, Mary Blythe started to go 
below, but she could not dismiss her companion so easily. 
He did not leave her until he had escorted her to the cabin, 
where he bade her good-night. 

Clement returned to the deck and smoked a cigar, think- 
ing how strange it was that he should meet the daughter of 
his aunt’s old friend as he had. He felt shocked that she 
should have learned the scandal regarding him and poor 
Clara Richards. His heart was heavy and he felt bitterly 
indignant that he should have to suffer so unjustly. 


CHAPTER X. 


THE INFERNAL MACHINE. 

While Clement Huntingford was thus musing, his attention 
was suddenly aroused by overhearing the following conver- 
sation; 

“ I wonder, Pat, if there is any infernal machines aboard 
this steamer?” 

“Sure, Jack, what makes you think of such a thing?” 

“ But do you know what was in those boxes you carried 
aboard for the Jew, who afterward changed his mind so sud- 
denly about sailing?” 

“ How could I know what were in the boxes when they were 
nailed down?” 

“ True for you. Were they heavy?” 

“ As heavy as lead. It was as much as I could do to carry 
one of them at a time.” 

“ I saw those boxes before they came on board.” 

“On the wharf?” 

“ No, at old Mother Jones’s.” 

“The old hag who lived outside of Cape Colony?” 

“Yes; I boarded with her for a while when my luck was 
very queer.” 

“ That’s the time you had the fever, and the doctors made 
you leave us for a time, was it not?” 

“Yes; I saw a good deal of Le Grand in those days; he 
was always at work on some queer sort of machinery. He had 
a lot of glass jars and no end of wires. He talked about elec- 
tricity a great deal. One day he set himself on fire with some 
of his stuff, and I had hard work to keep him from burning. I 
was going to pour some water in the jars over him, but Le 
Grand shrieked: ‘Don’t touch them, they are full of nitro- 
glycerine!’” You’ll set the house on fire.” 

“ Sure, it is mighty dangerous!” 

64 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


65 


“That it is. The Frenchman showed me a queer thing one 
day. He made a large clock, set it at ten, fixed what he called 
an electric wire; then he put some dynamite in it and took 
it to a field about a mile away from the old woman’s cabin. 
He then put the clock in a big chest filled with rocks. Well, 
when ten o’clock struck, you would have thought an earth- 
quake was around. The cabin shook under our feet, and we 
all ran out. The rocks were blown up and the earth all thrown 
up where the chest had been placed.” 

“Do you mean to tell me that the clock went off and blew 
up the rocks?” 

“ Faix, I do. Seeing is believing. You ought to have seen 
Le Grand; he went about clapping his hands, saying his fortune 
was made. Suppose he has some of those clocks in those 
boxes you carried on board, Pat?” 

“ Faix, if he has, we’ll be traveling in the other world 
to-morrow, on a journey where there is no return tickets to 
be had for love or money, and my old woman will be a widow 
before her time,” replied Pat Malone with a sigh. 

The two men were still engaged in conversation when 
Clement walked up to Pat Malone and tapped him on the 
shoulder. 

“ I have been listening to your conversation, Malone, and 
I am inclined to think Jack is right,” 

“Sure, your honor, don’t believe that I was such an idiot 
to carry dynamite on board.” 

“ Not if you knew it,” answered Huntingford with a smile; 
“ but you did not know what was in those boxes, did you? ” 

“ Faith, I couldn’t see when they were nailed up tight.” 

“Exactly; therefore you may have carried twenty infernal 
machines on board without discovering them. It is better to 
be sure than sorry, so do your duty.” 

“That I will, your honor, if you will be kind enough to 
tell me how to do it.” 

“Come with me to Captain Pearson and let your friend tell 
him his suspicions at once. I will go and see if he is on deck.” 

At this moment eight bells struck, and Captain Pearson 
was relieved of his watch on deck by the first officer. 

The captain descended to the cabin, where Clement met 
him. The former stated the case to the captain; and told him 


5 


66 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


that the two second-cabin passengers were waiting to cor- 
roborate his story. 

“ My dear sir/' said the captain, “ I am surprised that a man 
of your intelligence should think of anything so ridiculous. We 
have had the dynamite scare for several voyages, and yet we 
reached Liverpool safely.” 

“ I think,” suggested Clement, “ you ought to overhaul the 
boxes and see what is in them.” 

“ I do not consider it my duty to overhaul my cargo, sir; 
in fact, Mr. Hartley, you ask me ^n impossibility — I could not 
unship my cargo. It is stored down in the lower hold and 
we could not get at it. If there is dynamite on board, we blow 
up, for I have no time to spend hunting up imaginary infernal 
machines.” 

” Think of the lives of your passengers.” 

** I am here to look after the steamer, and I believe I know 
my duty, sir. You will excuse me if I tell you that you had 
better attend to your own business and let me attend to mine.” 

After delivering this pithy advice Captain Pearson bowed 
stiffly and retired to his stateroom, feeling much annoyed with 
his meddlesome passenger. 

The next morning Clement Huntingford, after a hasty ■ 
toilet, hurried on deck, where he found Mary Blythe and her 
little charge enjoying the sea breeze which was refreshing after 
a night passed in the close cabin. 

“ Good-morning,” said Clement, approaching the governess, 

“ I am pleased to see that you are able to come on deck, as I 
was afraid that you might be on the invalid list.” 

” Oh, no, the sea never causes me any inconvenience,” 
replied the young lady smiling. “Even Edith has escaped 
its evil effects.” 

Clement, as he passed his hand caressingly over the child’s 
head, said: 

“ So I perceive.” 

“ It has been very calm so far, but we must expect to have 
some stormy weather before we reach the end of our voyage.” 

“ We must,” answered Clement, with a sigh, as he thought 
of his fears during the previous evening. 

He nervously counted the hours, knowing that if the Lily 
of the Valley was not wrecked within the two following days 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


67 


his fears would prove to be only phantoms of his imagination. 

His unpleasant reverie was interrupted by Edith exclaim- 
ing: 

“ Here’s papa!” 

The little girl ran toward her father, kissed him, and clung 
to his hand affectionately as Major Robinson advanced and 
bade Miss Blythe and Clement “good-morning.” Just then 
the breakfast bell rang, and they all descended to the dining 
saloon, where they sat down to their morning repast. 

After breakfast, Edith asked her father to take a walk with 
her, and they went on deck. Mary Blythe followed them with 
a book in her hand. She ensconced herself in a chair back of 
the wheel-house to enjoy a quiet hour, as she imagined, but she 
was mistaken. She had not read a chapter of her novel when 
Clement Huntingford approached her saying: 

“ Pardon my intrusion. Miss Blythe.” 

“ I am not particularly interested in my book, therefore I 
will pardon your interruption,” replied the governess smil- 
ingly. 

“ Miss Blythe,” said Clement, abruptly, as he drew a chair 
near to her, “ I want to tell you something that has been in 
my thoughts ever since the first hour we met. I am afraid that 
I may offend you.” 

He paused, and his pulse quickened painfully as he ner- 
vously listened for a reply. 

“ No — I do not believe that you would say anything to 
offend me,” replied Mary, slowly. 

Clement’s face flushed hotly, and his tongue seemed to be 
no longer under his control as he said, in a low tone of voice, 
which suppressed emotion rendered almost indistinct: 

“ I have been afraid to say a word to you, but we are on a 
long voyage; we know not what may happen before we reach 
the end; I must tell you the truth — I love you — I have loved 
you since the very first hour we met. Do you think you can 
love me?” 

“ I may,” replied the blushing girl. 

“ Oh, my darling! I hope to win you for my wife. I will 
try to make you happy,” as he bent over her and took her 
hand. 

The young girl was silent, but her face was covered with 


68 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


rosy blushes. She seemed well content to let Clement woo 
her. She did not withdraw her hand which he held, and her 
manner encouraged him to proceed with the old, old story that 
is ever new when whispered for the first time. 

With a fond glance at the blushing girl beside him Clement 
said: 

“ Mary, I have so longed for love ! I have never known the 
affection of a mother, as mine died when I was born. I had no 
gentle sister to comfort me; I haven ever known the love of 
but one relative, for my father married a year after my 
mother’s death; my stepmother never gave me a thought. 

All her affection was centered in her own son. I never felt 
my heart drawn toward any woman until I met you.” 

“ I am only a simple girl without any great personal 
attractions,” remarked Mary, humbly. 

“You are mistaken; you are one of the dearest little 
women in the world.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Hartley,” replied Mary, laughing at 
Clement’s compliment. 

“Don’t you think you could call me by my first name?” 
said Clement, with a merry twinkle in his eye. 

He was not a timid wooer; besides, he knew that Mary 
Blythe loved him far more than she would acknowledge just 
then, owing to their short acquaintance; therefore, he tried to 
test her affection in every possible manner. 

“ I do not know your Christian name, Mr. Hartley.” 

“Charles Hartley is my name,” he replied, blushing deeply 
as he gave her his as^med name. 

Clement hesitated a moment before he answered Mary 
Blythe, because he hated to tell the woman whom he loved a 
falsehood; but, if he were to tell her his real name, his fear 
was great that she would turn from him with loathing, owing 
to that miserable scandal which she had already heard of 
Clement Huntingford. If he could have foreseen the future, 
he would never have assumed an alias. 

“ Your name is one of my favorites, as I once had an only 
brother who was called Charles.” 

“ I am glad that you like it,” was his reply, but in his heart 
he longed to ask her if she did not prefer Clement to Charles. 

“ What a charming day it is; the sky is so blue and the ocean 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


69 


SO calm that it is difficult to imagine that old Father Neptune 
could ever be otherwise than placid,” remarked the governess. 

“Yes; it is a perfect day. I trust we will remember it all 
our lives,” said Clement, fervently. 

“ I hope so,” responded Mary, quietly, as she arose and 
leaned over the steamer’s side. 

See felt happy; too happy to give her thoughts utterance, 
so she silently watched the sunbeams playing “ hide and seek ” 
with the mighty waves. 

Her lover came and stood beside her, looking down at her 
trim little figure, his fine eyes beaming with the passionate 
love with which he regarded her. His fervent ejaculation was: 

“ Would that this day would last forever.” 

“ I will echo that wish, providing that all our days would be 
as happy as the present one.” 

At this moment Purser Hall came to where they were 
standing and remarked: 

“ We are not blown up yet.” 

“ No; but I shall not feel that we have escaped until 
another day has elapsed, Mr. Hall.” 

“ Come, come, my dear sir, you must not look so solemn or 
you will frighten Miss Blythe.” 

“ Oh, I am not at all alarmed, Mr. Hall; I have traveled a 
great deal, and never met with an accident yet.” 

“ And I hope that you never will. I was in one some years 
ago; the experience was most unpleasant. Mr. Hartley fright- 
ened one of our second-cabin passengers so badly last night, 
that he is ill this morning.” 

“What put him in such a sad condition?” asked Mary Blythe. 

“ You must get Mr. Hartley to tell you the story, as he 
knows more about it than I do.” 

Clement repeated to Mary Blythe Jack’s story. She turned 
pale. 

“ I hope I have not alarmed you?” 

“ You have, Captain Pearson should have taken your advice.” 

“ Oh, he thought I was a lunatic, I dare say.” 

“ I hope your fears may prove groundless. Hark!” ex- 
claimed Mary, catching hold of Clement’s arm. 

The sound of a terrible explosion sounded in their ears. 

“ My God! we’re lost. See the steamer’s on fire!” she 
screamed. 


CHAPTER XI. 


THE LAST DROP OF WATER. 

The scene was terrible. Men, women and children crowded 
on the upper deck, driven there by the flames. Women 
fainted, children cried, and even strong men lost their presence 
of mind and wrung their hands in despair. 

Some few prayed while they awaited their awful doom. 
The firemen and some of the sailors forgot their duty and made 
a rush for the life-boats. 

Captain Pearson jumped in front of them, explaiming: 

“By Heaven, the first man who does not do his duty and 
obey my orders, I will put a bullet through him!” 

He sternly pointed his pistol at the firemen who stood near 
him. 

“Launch the boats — officers do your duty — see that the 
women and children are lowered into the boats first!” were the 
captain’s orders. 

As the boats could not hold all the passengers. Captain 
Pearson ordered a raft to be built, which was done by taking 
three spars and lashing them together in triangular form, then 
fastening them with double lashings, boards then being put 
across three thicknesses each way. 

The raft was then launched overboard. Jugs of water, some 
bread, and what provisions the steward could snatch together 
were then distributed. 

An officer was put aboard each boat and the passengers 
distributed among them; the boats were then cleared away. 

The captain stood heroically at his post, cool and de- 
termined, until he saw the last boat put off. 

As it drew away from the steamer another terrific ex- 
plosion occurred, completely blowing up the Lily of the Valley 
and all that were on board. The gallant captain alone was 
left struggling in the waves amid the debris. . 

70 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


71 

It was about forty hours after the Lily of the Valley left 
he): port that she was blown up. The steamer was about five 
hundred miles from Cape Colony when the catastrophe oc- 
curred. There were sixty cabin passengers, twenty-five second 
cabin passengers, and seventy-five of a crew all told, besides 
her captain, mates and engineers. The Lily of the Valley had 
carried eight life-boats and the usual complement of life-pre- 
servers. 

Several of the boats were swamped in launching them. 
Owing to the firmness and courage of Captain Pearson, all 
the passengers had been lowered into the remainder; how- * 
ever, many lost their lives owing to the over crowded condition 
of the boats. Some of the people were so panic-stricken that 
they managed to capsize three of the boats. 

The scene that ensued was appalling. Several of the ill- 
fated creatures had clung to the debris^ hoping in vain to reach 
one of the life-boats by floating, as they could not swim. To 
add to the horror, a number of sharks came around and attacked 
the unfortunates, whose dreadful shrieks of agony resounded 
over the waves as these biood-thirsty monsters dragged them 
down beneath the waves, which were crimsoned with their life- 
blood. 

Clement Huntingford had placed a life-belt around Mary 
Blythe’s waist and placed her in the boat to which he had been 
allotted, when the second explosion came and the terrified pas- 
sengers capsized it. He fortunately was a good .swimmer and 
holding up the half-swooning girl with one arm, swam toward 
the raft. John Owen and his son Ned, also Pat Malone, were 
already on it, and helped Clement to lift his now totally uncon- 
scious burden on board. 

“ I am afraid the young lady is dead,” said John Owen. 

“ God forbid! ” murmured Clement, as he bent over her in 
agony. Mary Blythe looked like a corpse. Not a vestige of 
color remained in her face, her form was rigid and cold. Clem- 
ent chafed her ice-cold hands as he exclaimed: 

“ Mary, Mary, my darling, speak to me! Mary, do you not 
know me?” 

She might have been stone-deaf for all the sign she made of 
hearing him— stone-blind for all the sign of seeing him— stone- 


72 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


dead for any proof of life or consciousness. Clement was in 
despair. 

“ Whist!” cried Pat Malone, passing to Clement a pocket- 
flask of whisky. “ Pour a little of that down her throat. It will 
bring her to life if there’s any left in her at all, at all.” 

Clement raised her head and put the flask to her lips, pour- 
ing some of the whisky down her throat. She opened her eyes 
and shuddered, and after a few minutes was able to sit up, but 
she clung frantically to Clement. 

After the passengers who had been struggling in the water 
had all disappeared, and most of the boats were out of sight, 
John Owen picked up some boards that were floating near by, 
while Pat Malone picked up a tarpaulin that was on the hatch. 
The Irishman had once spent a year at sea, and he prided him- 
self on the knowledge which he had acquired during that time. 

“ Faix! I think we had better rig a sail out of this. It will 
give us a chance to make our way through the sea better.” 

“You are right,” replied John. “We can easily make a 
temporary sail with the tarpaulin and the boards.” 

The two men succeeded in making the sail and fixing it 
firmly to the raft. 

The horrible sharks had had their appetite whetted by the 
taste of human flesh, and they were eager to devour the survi- 
vors of the wreck. They surrounded the raft by scores, running 
their mouths up to the sides of it. Pat Malone, John and Ned 
Owen beat them off with the boards until the savage man-eat- 
ers gave up the contest as vain. 

The victims of the disaster who were on the raft were in a 
fearful situation. The only provisions they had were a jug of 
water and a few biscuits. 

Pat Malone generously shared the contents of his pocket- 
flask among his comrades. The shades of night soon envel- 
oped them, and overcome with fatigue, they all slept the sleep 
of exhaustion except Clement, who tenderly supported Mary 
Blythe in his arms. 

She was overcome by the terrible scenes which she had 
passed through, and slept profoundly, feeling safe so long as 
Clement was beside her. She thanked God for preserving them 
from the awful doom which had overtaken their fellow-passen- 
gers. 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


73 


The next day they all felt very much disheartened. The 
The sun was blazing over their uncovered heads, and they all 
suffered terribly from thirst. Clement took charge of the few 
biscuits and water-jug, the contents of which he served out. 

He forced Mary to eat a biscuit and swallow a few mouth- 
fuls of water. All day long they watched for an approaching 
sail, but it was in vain that they strained their sight — no vessel 
was to be seen. 

Another night passed, which was succeeded by a wretched 
day. John Owen had become very ill from the exposure and 
want of nourishment. The third day was a mournful one 
indeed. The old man was sinking rapidly. He looked up at 
Clement and said: 

“You look like a good man — a man whom any one might 
trust. Will you look after my boy if you are both saved?" 

“ I will indeed," replied Clement, kindly. 

“ Take my belt off of me. The diamonds in it are all I 
have, but it will be ample for my girl and Ned. Poor Cora! I 
will never see her pretty face again. Ned, take this gentle- 
man’s advice about the diamonds if you are saved. Give your 
sister my love. I am very sorry that I will never see dear old 
England again." 

The old man fell into a slumber and slept several hours, 
then he awoke delirious. It was sad to hear him rave of the 
shipwreck. His son tried to quiet him, but in vain. 

“ I tell you I see the flames — see them burning. Don’t hold 
me — let me go — water — water! ’’ .he cried, and sunk down ex- 
hausted, overcome by the paroxysm. He was quiet for about 
an hour, then he sprang to his feet crying: “A sail — a sail!’’ 
“See — the ship is waiting for me;” and before any one could 
prevent him he plunged into the sea, where he sunk almost im- 
mediately, to the horror of his son and fellow sufferers. 

Ned Owen cried bitterly as he saw his father drown, and 
exclaimed: 

“Poor old man! He worked hard in the diamond district 
and thought to spend the rest of his life in England. Oh, Mr. 
Hartley, it is terrible to think that he died so." 

“ My poor boy, I cannot comfort you. God only can do 
that. Pray to Him. Pray that we may be saved.” 


74 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


“Oh, Charles,” cried Mary Blythe, “ I hope you will grant 
me one favor.” 

“ Anything you ask, Mary.” 

“ Kill me — never let me die as that poor man did.” 

“ Please God, we will be picked up before any more of us 
perish.” 

“ Oh, promise me that you will not let me live if I am going 
to become insane.” 

“Hush, Mary. You do not know what you ask. I could 
not commit such a sin — kill you — I dare not.” 

“ Faith some of us will have to die soon if we don’t come 
across a ship,” said Pat with terrible meaning. 

“Wretch! how dare you give utterance to such a vile 
thought? ” 

“ I dare! Sure I’ll have the life of some one of you if I’m 
on this raft many more days. My own life is worth as much as 
yours,” replied the Irishman, with a villainous scowl. 

“There is no use of our quarreling among ourselves. We 
have trouble enough as it is.” 

“ Give me that jug of water. Give it to me I say, or by St. 
Patrick I’ll take it.” 

“ Shame on you, Malone, to want the last drop of water, 
which by rights belongs to me. I have not had a drink to- 
day.” 

“ Faix, then you’re a greater fool than I took you for.” 

“ No, sir. I was saving it for Miss Blythe. 

“ Sure she don’t want it.” 

“ Let him have it,” said Mary, wearily.” 

“Thank you, ma’am, you’re a lady. You see, women are 
never so thirsty as men — especially Irishmen — they are born 
dry.” 

“ I hope the majority of your countrymen are born better 
natured than you are. Where’s your politeness? ” 

“ Gone down with the Lily of the Valley. Self-preserva- 
tion is the first law of nature; so pass me over the jug.” 

“ I will not do anything of the sort,” cried Clement. 

Pat made a dash for the jug and succeeded in getting pos- 
session of it, and put it to his lips to drain the last drop, when 
Clement seized the jug with both hands. During the struggle, 
the stone jug fell on the raft and was smashed into a thousand 
atoms. 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 75 

“Sure, see what you did!” cried the Irishman, his eyes 
flashing with an evil light. 

Mary Blythe sat with clasped hands during the encounter. 
Her lips moved in prayer. Poor girl! she was fast losing 
all hope of ever being rescued. That night Clement did not 
dare to close his eyes, as he knew that Pat Malone was delirious, 
therefore not responsible for any deed of violence he might 
commit. 

The next morning there was not a morsel of food or a drop 
of water on board of the raft, and the sufferings of the party 
were intense. The sharks again appeared, and Mary Blythe 
once more begged her lover to kill her. 

“ O my darling, don’t ask me to take your precious life. 
Have courage a little longer.” 

“ Sure, I will accomodate you, miss, and welcome,” said the 
delirious Irishman, as he sprung at her with a knife in his 
hand, which Clement, after a desperate struggle, at last took 
from him. Mary, seeing her lover’s danger, had fainted, and 
lay insensible on the raft. 

Ned Owen, who had been standing at the back of Clement, 
at this instant cried: 

“ A sail! a sail! ” 

“Where?” asked Clement, anxiously. 

“ On the left of us.” 

“ Clement tore off his shirt and waved it wildly, hoping to 
attract the attention of those on board the vessel. 

“ Great heavens! they do not see us! Oh, merciful Lord, 
help us! ” cried Ned Owen, as he, too, waved his flag of distress, 
obtained in like manner. Oh, what a terrible moment that 
was for those on board the raft. Their suspense was agonizing. 
Just as they were about to despair, the ship was seen coming 
toward them. 

“Thank God!” exclaimed Ned Owens, bursting into tears. 
“ Bedad, I’m glad that we won’t have to eat each other. By 
St. Patrick, I feel like a cannibal.” 

“Mary, Mary, rouse yourself, my dear girl, we are saved!” 
exclaimed Clement, excitedly. Mary Blythe opened her eyes, 
and it was some minutes before Clement could make her 
understand that their peril was at an end. 

“The ship proved to be the Queen, bound for London from 


76 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


Calcutta, under the command of Captain Gray, who had not 
seen the raft until his vessel was within half a mile of it. 

She came alongside and took the survivors of the wreck off. 
Clement was the only one of the party who could stand up 
straight when they were taken on board of the Queen. The 
captain used every means and effort in his power to restore 
them to good health and strength while they were his guests. 


CHAPTER XII. 


IN THE TOILS. 

More than a year had elapsed since Francisco Rotunno 
had shown Harry Huntingford the forged check. During that 
time the young Englishman had become a complete tool in 
the wily Italian’s hands. 

Harry had introduced Rotunno to quite a number of his 
friends, who were young gentlemen with more money than 
brains. They gladly availed themselves of the Italian’s 
pleasant company, and spent their evenings in Curzon Street, 
where they played late and lost heavily. 

Madame Passo, who acted as her brother’s decoy, was a 
very beautiful woman, and besides her beauty, there was a 
wonderful fascination about her. Men lost their heads as well 
as their hearts in her presence. She was a capital musican, 
possessing a magnificent voice which had been highly culti- 
vated. 

During her sojourn in London she appeared as a lady living 
quietly with her brother. In fact, the gentlemen never so far 
forgot themselves as to mention cards or dice before her; if 
they did, 'she had an innocent way of not comprehending their 
meaning. Madame Passo never appeared to know that her 
guests gambled. 

Beatrice Passo had had a strange, eventful life. Married at 
fifteen to a man old enough to be her grandsire, she soon 
learned to lead a life of hypocrisy. She commenced by 
deceiving her husband, who believed her to be a true and de- 
voted wife until the hour that his wealth vanished by some 
unfortunate speculations. He found that he had also lost his 
wife as well, as she disappeared, leaving him to bear his altered 
circumstances alone. 

The poor old gentleman soon sank under the burden of his 
misfortunes; then his widow made her appearance in Paris, 

77 


;8 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


attired in widow’s weeds, a few weeks afterward, where she 
aided her brother, to the best of her ability, in luring men to 
their ruin. 

The madame had come to London with the determination 
of winning a titled husband, for Beatrice Passo was a trifle 
weary of the life she led. 

She realized that she must marry soon or never, because 
her beauty would vanish with the coming years, and she was 
already past her spring-tide. 

She had been very gracious to Harry Huntingford, being 
determined to use his influence to the utmost in forwarding her 
matrimonial schemes. 

One evening she asked him if he would kindly escort her to 
the Lyceum Theater to see Henry Irving. Her brother had 
secured her a box, but he could not possibly go with her, as he 
expected some friends to visit him. 

Harry wished madame a thousand miles away, but he knew 
that he dare not refuse to escort her. Nevertheless he loathed 
himself for being in the toils of such people. 

The evening that he ha(d to chaperon Madame Passo to the 
Lyceum Theater was rendered memorable to him because he 
met so many of his acquaintances. He was exceedingly morti- 
fied, as he felt positive that she was recognized, and also that 
her history was known to the majority of the gentlemen among 
the audience; however, he was mistaken in this supposition, 
for Beatrice Passo was too clever an adventuress to allow 
herself to become too well known. 

The young Englishman might have enjoyed the performance 
if he had not felt so ill at ease. 

The theater was crowded by the elite of London society. 
The Prince and Duchess of Wales were in the royal box; beau- 
tiful women in tasteful toilets were scattered like flowers in a 
garden, and here and there throughout the house were men 
famous for gallant deeds or distinguished in art, literature 
and science, for Irving was a general favorite. 

Lord Landsmere was seated in his box, where he was taking 
a quiet survey of the house, when he was joined by Clarence 
Desmond, a wealthy commoner. 

“ Good evening, Mr. Desmond. I had given^up all hope of 
seeing you to-night.” 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 79 

“ Good evening, my lord. You know I never break an 
engagement if it is possible to keep it.” 

“You seldom do, Mr. Desmond, and therefore I was begin- 
ning to wonder what had detained you. The house appears to 
be crowded. ‘ Standing room only ’ was the sign at the box- 
office when I entered.” 

“ Ah, Irving is such a favorite.” 

“ Yes, he is a clever fellow. I dined with him last week. 
He was what might be termed a perfect host. I believe that I 
like him better as a man than as an actor. By the way, when is 
your nephew. Sir Clement Huntingford, coming home?” 

“ I cannot tell you. He was about to leave Cape Colony 
when his aunt. Miss Huntingford, last heard from him.” 

“ He is a queer chap. Mercy on us, what energy the man 
must possess. He is never in one place a year at a time. 
Always on the go. He is very erratic, but a capital fellow. I 
like him much better than his brother.” 

“ So do I, Mr. Desmond.” 

“ If Clement had been in Harry’s place, he would have gone 
in business and earned a handsome fortune.” 

“You are right; I believe he would; but do you know, I 
never could make my brother believe in his elder son. He 
was so blinded by his affection for Harry, who is not half the 
man that Clement is.” 

“ Oh, there is not the slightest comparison. I never saw two 
brothers so unlike.” 

“ They are half brothers.” 

“So I have understood; but, my lord, they had the same 
father, and ought to have some of the same characteristics. I 
hear that Harry Huntingford is about to marry Lawyer Lum- 
ley’s daughter.” 

“ They were to have been married this month, but owing to 
the death of my brother the wedding was postponed.” 

“ They say that Miss Lumley is a very wealthy heiress.” 

“ She ought to be, for old Lumley is both a money-lender 
and a lawyer. Talk about Shy locks— he beats any Jew in Lon- 
don.” 

“A queer father-in-law for a man of the world to choose.” 

“ I believe Lumley proposed the marriage himself.” 

“You surprise me. Do you know if your nephew is in love 
with Miss Lumley?” 


8o 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


“ My dear Desmond, you have me. Are you aware that I 
am not upon tetms of very great intimacy with my nephew?” 

“ The reason that I asked was, that I know he is at present 
devoted to Mademoiselle Cora, the dashing equestrienne and 
actress. I watched him the other night at the Alhambra. I 
never saw a man look so hard hit in my life. I am told that 
he has almost ruined himself by sending her costly presents. 
His flower bill must amount to a pretty round sum. I hear 
that he spends all his evenings at the Alhambra.” 

“ For once good Dame Rumor is mistaken, for there he is 
in that box directly opposite us.” 

Both of the gentlemen leveled their glasses at the box in 
which Harry Huntingford sat. 

“ You are right, my lord, and he has a beautiful woman with 
him. By Jove! who is she? ” 

“ I do not know. She is a new face. I never saw her be- 
fore. She looks like a foreigner!” 

Both gentlemen again took a look at Beatrice Basso through 
their opera glasses. 

The fair Italian wore a costume of India muslin trimmed 
with costly lace. Her white draperies were relieved by a large 
bunch of jack roses, and there was also a small bunch of these 
flowers in her hair. Her jewels were diamonds. As she sat 
she made a very charming picture. Her large, dark, luminous 
eyes seemed full of a vague melancholy; her forehead was 
clear and broad. Every one of her features was clear cut and 
delicate; but her expression was singularly cold and haughty. 
Her figure was slight and willowy, but not meager, and she was 
rather above than below the medium height. 

“ As soon as the first act is over, let us go and be intro- 
duced.” 

“ By all means, my lord.” 

“ My precious nephew will be awfully put out if we take 
him and his fair charmer by storm.” 

“ He must pay the penalty of being beauty’s escort,” laughed 
Clarence Desmond. 

The curtain now fell on the first act, and the two gentlemen 
promptly left their box, intent on an introduction to the fair 
Italian 

Harry Huntingford started when he heard the door of his 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


8l 


box open, and was greatly surprised to see Lord Landsmere 
and Clarence Desmond enter. 

He arose, shook hands with his uncle and friend, then turn- 
ing to Madame Passo, he said: 

“ Will you permit me to make known to you my uncle. 
Lord Landsmere and Mr. Desmond?” 

“This is, indeed, an unexpected pleasure, madame,” said 
Lord Landsmere, with old-fashioned gallantry. 

After a few ordinary remarks, such as people usually in- 
dulge in on such occasions, Mr. Desmond and Harry became 
engaged in a conversation regarding certain horses that were 
in training for the next Derby. 

Lord Landsmere sat down by Madame Passo, saying as he 
did so: 

“ How do you like Henry Irving?” 

“Very much, my lord,” replied she. 

Her low, sweet voice, with its slight accent, sounded very 
pleasantly to his ear. 

“ Irving, in such a part as this, has very few rivals. I think 
we see the great actor at his best in Louis XI. He portrays 
the craft, the cunning, the cruelty of the senile monarch most 
vividly.” 

“ I must confess that I am agreeably disappointed. The 
company is very good especially the gentleman who plays the 
part of the Duke de Nemours.” 

“ Oh, you mean Mr. Terriss.” 

“ Yes, my lord,” replied madame, as she referred to her pro- 
gramme. “ Ah, he is a handsome man, and he knows how to 
act; his voice, too, is in his favor. Nature has done for him 
more than she did for Henry Irving, who is a better actor.” 

“Yes, madame, because he possesses genius and persever- 
ance which have made him triumph over all obstacles. A few 
years ago he was almost unknown, but by dint of hard work 
and the timely aid of some capital, which he obtained from a 
few of his admirers, Irving became the manager of the Lyceum 
Theater. He has given us Shakespearean dramas as no one 
ever thought of setting them before. Ah, if the immortal poet 
could witness his plays as Irving brings them out, he would be 
in ecstasies.” 

“Your great English poet obtained some of his best ideas 

from our Italian poets.” 

6 


82 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


“ Undoubtedly some of his dramas owe their origin to that 
source, but what may be considered his greatest works are 
original; for instance, take Henry VIII. That magnificent his- 
torical drama has few equals. Ah, I doubt if the world will 
ever have another Shakespeare.” 

“ I have read some of his plays, but I fear I do not under- 
stand your language sufficiently well to appreciate him as I 
ought. I am an Italian.” 

“ You must come often to the Lyceum during your sojourn 
here, for Irving is a greater stage manager than actor. His 
company harmonizes perfectly, and the smallest detail is care- 
fully worked out. He has a wonderful eye for stage pictures. 
I understand that he always obtains the advice of one of our 
famous artists before he produces a play.” 

“ I can see that you are an enthusiastic admirer of Mr. Irv- 
ing.” 

“Yes, madame, I am. I have witnessed far more artistic 
work in this theater than ever I did in my young days.” 

“You say that as if you were quite ancient, my lord,” said 
Beatrice Passo, with one of her most fascinating smiles. “ You 
look almost as young as Mr. Huntingford himself.” 

“ You flatter me, madame.” 

“Not at all. I think Englishmen never grow old. They 
always look well, even when far advanced in years. I admire 
your countrymen very much.” 

“We are fortunate, madame, in having so fair a champion. 
Ah! I see my friend is about to retire, and I must bid you 
adieu.” 

“ I trust we may meet again. Get Mr. Huntingford to 
bring you with him. He always attends my receptions, and 
my brother, I am sure, will be delighted to make your acquaint- 
ance.” 

“ Thank you, madame. I shall avail myself of your kind 
permission;” and with a courtly bow, he arose. Lord Lands- 
mere bade his nephew good evening and then followed Mr. 
Desmond to their box. 

“Upon my word Madame Passo is a charming woman. Why 
she is as intelligent as she is beautiful. Where did Harry pick 
her up, I wonder?” 

“ He told me that he met her in Paris. She is a widow liv- 
ing with her brother. There is a chance for you, my lord.” 


/ 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 83 

** I am not inclined that way, my dear boy. I shall never 
marry again, unless my nephew Clement dies suddenly.” 

“ Why would you think of marrying then? ” 

“ To prevent Harry Huntingford from being my suc- 
cesssor.” 

“By Jove! how much you dislike him.” 

“I never had any love for him from the hour that he was 
born, for he made the life of his brother simply wretched. 
Lately, he has been guilty of something for which I can never 
forgive him. Clement would never have left England but for 
his brother’s unmanly conduct. The poor boy went into exile, 
a victim bearing unmerited reproach for a sin which he never 
committed. I will tell you the whole affair some day and then 
you will agree with me that I should do everything that lies in 
my power to prevent Harry Huntingford becoming my suc- 
cessor.” 

Clarence Desmond thought of his conversation with Lord , 
Landsmere that night after he parted with him at their club, 
and smiled grimly at the old nobleman’s contemplating the pos- 
sibility of a second marriage at his advanced age. 


% 


CHAPTER XIII. 


CHECKMATED. 

Lawyer Lumley sat in his office, busy as usual. He felt an- 
noyed about his daughter’s wedding being postponed on ac- 
count of Sir Charles’ death. Nearly two years had elapsed 
since he had proposed to accept Harry Huntingford for his 
son-in-law. He had paid the debts of the latter, but the law- 
yer still held his mortgage on Woodstock, as he was not pre- 
pared to give up his hold upon the property until his daugh- 
ter Maud has become Mrs. Harry Huntingford. 

Two months had now gone by since the death of the baronet, 
and Sir Clement had not returned to claim his own. The law- 
yer wished from the bottom of his heart that he never would 
return, so that his daughter might become Lady Huntingford 
and hold her head up with the proudest in the land. 

Thomas Lumley was ambitious. To his bitter sorrow, he 
had no son; but he was determined that his daughter should 
marry into an old English family whose position could not be 
questioned. He had worked hard all his life — like his father 
before him — but with this difference, his father had not 
succeeded well in the world. He had been a shrewd man, but 
not very clever, however he managed to give his son a better 
education than he himself had received, and had lived long 
enough to see his worthy descendant admitted to the bar. 

Thomas Lumley was a keen, clever, shrewd fellow, and an 
excellent lawyer, but his fortune had been made by money- 
lending. His practice professionally brought him in contact 
with moneyed people, also with people who wanted money. 
He made the most of these advantages, and had acquired 
enormous wealth. 

His money-lending business was run under another name 
and in another part of the city. His plan was to send all his 
needy clients to this office, and his gains were enormous. 

84 


P 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


85 


Lumley had given his motherless daughter every ad- 
vantage that money could procure for her, and had done his 
duty as a father in every respect, for he loved her and was 
proud of her after his own peculiar fashion. Unfortunately he 
did not understand her; therefore, when he had picked out a 
handsome young man, connected by ties of consanguinity with 
some of the noblest families in England, the lawyer imagined 
that he had done all in his power to secure his daughter’s future 
happiness. He felt quite satisfied with his intended son-in-law, 
who had managed to make himself agreeable to Maud Lum- 
ley, and treated her father with an off-hand courtesy that was 
exceedingly pleasant to the grim lawyer, who had an over- 
weening respect for the aristocracy. 

This particular afternoon, Lumley felt in unusual good 
spirits, as he was going to the opera with his daughter and 
Harry Huntingford. He liked to be seen with Maud and her 
betrothed husband in public, and was pleased to show people 
that the money-lender’s daughter could move in their 
charmed circle. His pleasant reverie was interrupted by the 
entrance of his clerk, who informed him that a visitor was 
very desirous of seeing him. 

“ Didn’t he give you his name?” 

“ No, sir, he refused to give it.” 

“ Does he look like a client?” 

“ More like a highwayman, sir. He has a sad, hang-dog 
appearance about him.” 

“ Oh, I suppose it is some chap that has got into a scrape. 
You had better show him up. Jack,” said the lawyer, nervously, 
“ and close the baize door after you.” 

Jack Lawrence left the inner office to do as he was desired. 
In a moment the visitor presented himself. Lumley nearly 
bounced off his chair as he beheld him — it was his old tool in 
villainy, Gipsy George. 

“John Brown of Hempstead, how are you?” said the fel- 
low, with a triumphant grin. “ I have found you out at last, 
my friend.” 

“Sir!” stammered the lawyer, trying to look as if he had 
never seen the intruder before. 

“Capital!” exclaimed George. “That look would be in- 
valuable at the Old Bailey. You must have practiced it hard 
to do it so very natural. You know me, don’t you? ” 


86 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


“ Certainly not,” said Lumley, recovering, in some degree, 
his self possession; “ never saw you before in all my life.” 

“ Whew! ” whistled the gypsy. 

“ You have made some extraordinary mistake, my good 
man,” observed Lumley, in his blandest tone: “ really, I know 
no John Brown, of Hempstead, or any other place.” 

“ Nor the Horse Shoe Inn in St. George’s Fields?” coolly 
asked the ruffian, with a grin; “ nor the child you left on the 
bench in the park, eh?” 

The lawyers cheek paled, and he glanced uneasily at a pair 
of pistols which hung over the mantel-piece. Gipsy George’s 
eyes followed his. 

“Them’s pretty barkers,” he observed, calmly taking one of 
them down and imprudently seating himself on the lawyers 
table. “ Screw barrels — are they charged ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Dear me, so they are,” said the gipsy, at the same time 
untwisting the barrel and letting the contents carelessly fall into 
his hand. “ I say, what does a respectable lawyer like you 
want with such weapons? Oh, I suppose you carry them about 
you when you get yourself up as John Brown of Hempstead. I 
say, old covey, there’s no use of your trying to play the inno- 
cent dodge on me. I’ve been too long in the business. Why, 
don’t you suppose that I knew you were disguised the first time 
I clapped my eyes on you? You were got up first-class, no mis- 
take, but I could see that your clothes didn’t belong to you. 
Why, maister, if I have followed you once. I’ve done so a dozen 
times, ’cause I was determined to hunt you up.” 

The lawyer felt that all further attempts at denial would be 
in vain. Leaving his chair, he quietly advanced toward the 
door, slipped the bolt, then confronted his visitor. 

“ What do you want? ” 

“Ah, I thought we should understand each other. You’re a 
plucky customer, my friend, and if ever I get into trouble I’ll 
send for you.” 

“ I am very busy this afternoon, my good man, therefore 
we must come to an understanding at once. I have paid you 
for your services, and have done with you. If you think to 
terrify me, you make a great mistake. You are in more danger 
from justice than I am. Remember Clara Richards’ murder,” 
said Lumley. 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 8/ 

“ Bah! that was not counted a case of murder. You forget 
the verdict of the coroner’s inquest.” 

“The affair, after all,” continued the lawyer, “was of but 
slight importance — she never was a wife.” 

“You are mistaken, my friend. I’ve Holy Joe’s hand to 
prove it.” 

The lawyer was puzzled. 

“Who the mischief is Holy Joe?” 

“What!” exclaimed the gipsy, with a look of contempt; 
“you, a lawyer, and not understand Romany! I thought you 
legal chaps could patter all slangs. I mean the parson’s ’tifi- 
cate, to be sure.” 

A light broke in upon Lumley. He saw in an instant through 
the whole affair. The gypsy had obtained possession of Clara 
Richards’ marriage certificate. He saw that the fellow wanted 
to make a market of him and could not help himself, but he 
resolved to stand the rub. 

“ Do you know anything about the child? “ he demanded. 

The gipsy smiled and said: 

“You thought you scared me that night in the park; but I 
outwitted you, my friend. I knew your little game — or thought 
I did. Well, after you left the child on the bench I waited, 
and then I returned and found the young one.’’ 

“ Where is the child? ” 

“ In good hands. It gets better treatment than you would 
have given it. No one of the Romany race ever ill-treats a 
kid. You almost did for the young one, for it was cold and 
blue when I brought it back to life.” ^ 

“Why didn’t you let it die? It was but cruel kindness to 
save its life.” 

“ Perhaps so. It can’t make much difference to you, though. 
It’s only a girl — if it was a boy, I could have made something 
handsome out of it.” 

“ Have you mentioned this affair to any one? ” 

“ No, I give you the preference. If I was to go down to 
Sutton, I could get my own price for the kid.” 

** You might; but then you would be asked some questions 
about the mother, which, if you answered, would get you into no 
end of trouble — in fact, hang you.” 

“ Well, I’d hang in good company,” replied the fellow, with 
a broad grin. 


88 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


“What do you want? Name your price, which must be rea- 
sonable, for remember I paid you for all your work.” 

“ That’s all right. I only want a hundred shiners now. I’m 
hard up — business is dull, you know, and a fellow must live.” 

“ You will have to keep dark, or you will ruin us.” 

“ Never fear. I’ll keep as dark as a lawyer’s conscience.” 

“ Come here, then, to-morrow night, and I’ll give you the 
money. I have not so much about me at present. 

“All right, old boy. I’ll be on hand; but I’ll come armed 
and not alone. You have had your chance, the next will be 
mine. I cannot trust you after the way you acted in the park. 
Now, I want no fooling — I want money — if you don’t choose 
to give it to me, I know where to get it.” 

“ Rely upon me.” 

“ I do,” said the fellow, rising from the table and preparing 
to depart. “Good-bye, John Brown, of Hempstead. Oh, gov- 
ernor,” he said, as he was going out of the door. 

“What is it?” demanded the lawyer imperatively. 

“Just tell those clerks of yours that I am not to be kept 
waiting when I call at your place — it makes a fellow feel un- 
comfortable. There is a smell of the Old Bailey about the 
outer office,” said the gypsy as he went out. 

“Would to Heaven that you were hanging on the gallows 
there,” muttered the lawyer, as the gypsy at last withdrew. 
“ Something must be done, I must think — think. Slippery 
Fortune never played me such a trick before.” 

With these words he threw himself into his easy chair and 
remained several hours lost in meditation. He was dis- 
turbed at last by Jack Lawrence bringing him a note. It was 
from Harry Huntingford, and ran as follows: 

“ Carlton Club. 

“Dear Lumley — Please ask Miss Lumley to excuse my 
escorting her to the opera this evening. 

“ The news has just reached me that the steamer in which 
my brother Clement left Cape Colony has been wrecked — vide 
the evening papers: ‘ Loss of the Lily of the Valley with the 
majority of her passengers and crew.’ It would not do for me 
to be seen at the opera under the circumstances. I’ll drop in 
to-morrow and see you. Excuse haste. Yours truly, 

“ Harry Huntingford.” 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


89 


“ By Jove! Maud is in luck. She will be my lady after all. 
I was right in my choice of a son-in-law,” muttered Lumley as 
he read the note. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


BEATRICE PASSO. 

The sad news of the wreck of the Lily of the Valley, and 
the loss of nearly all her passengers and crew, reached England 
on the arrival of the Ocean Monarch. This steamer had sailed 
from Cape Colony, bound for Liverpool, ten days after the ill- 
fated steamer had left her port, and her course lay just where 
this terrible explosion occurred. 

The third day that the Ocean Monarch was at sea. Captain 
Norris thought that he saw a boat, and steered toward it. The 
unfortunate victims of dynamite were in a terrible condition 
when he saw them, from the effects of thirst and exposure. 

This boat contained the first officer. 

In spite of the efforts of Captain Norris and the officers, the 
unfortunate survivors of the wreck died the day after they were 
rescued, within a few hours of each other. Captain Norris 
cruised about for several days, trying to discover the other 
boats, but did not succeed. The weather, which had been very 
fine, suddenly changed, and a violent storm ensued. 

The Ocean Monarch, with her sails furled and hatches fast- 
ened, withstood the fury of the elements. 

When the gale subsided, two boats turned upside down, 
some of the cargo and portions of the wrecked steamer floated 
past the ship. 

A few days afterward the raft, with no one on board, was 
discovered. Then, with heavy hearts, all those on board the 
Ocean Monarch abandoned the search. 

Miss Huntingford was heart-broken when the sad tidings 
reached her of her favorite nephew’s untimely end. He had 
sent her a telegram the day he sailed from Cape Colony, there- 
fore she could not cling to any vain hope regarding his safety. 

She grieved for him as she would have done for an only 
son. She had given him a mother’s love from the hour that 

90 


91 


( 

FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 

his dying mother had placed him, a helpless infant, in her arms. 
To the child she had given her affection, and devoted her life 
to his welfare, therefore his death was a sevete blow to her. 

Lord Landsmere was also deeply affected on learning the 
sad intelligence, but he swore that he would prevent Harry 
Huntingford becoming his heir. As for the latter, he could ill 
conceal his joy when he heard the news of the disaster, for, 
by his brother’s death, he became master of the title and 
estates. 

He felt that he could almost defy fate, with his brother’s 
princely fortune at his command and would have been perfect- 
ly happy if he had not been in the toils of Francisco Rotunno 
and his sister. 

The wily Italian held the forged check as a menadce when- 
ever Harry objected to do his bidding. 

Huntingford chafed under the bonds which made him a 
slave to this man’s will, and looked upon Rotunno as his evil 
genius. 

Harry saw how infatuated his uncle had become with 
Beatrice Passo, yet he dare not interfere, for he knew how 
much Lord Landsmere disliked him. He, therefore, sought 
Pedro Morelli, an Italian exile, who was a mutual friend of both 
his uncle and Rotunno, asking him to tell his lordship of the 
real character of the fascinating widow. He knew very well 
that he would be suspected of interested motives if he told his 
kinsman the truth. 

Signor Morelli declined to comply with this request 
because he was under pecuniary obligations to his fair country- 
woman. 

He saw the old nobleman’s infatuation, and much as he 
deplored the existing state of affairs, he felt himself obliged 
to remain silent. 

Signor Morelli was a tutor to Lord Fitzgerald’s sons. He 
had been a very wealthy man in his own country until he be- 
came involved in some revolutionary schemes, which made it 
necessary for him to seek an asylum in England. 

Eord Landsmere had known him in his prosperous days, 
therefore, after his arrival in London, Morelli sought his lord- 
ship and asked him to use his influence to obtain a position for 
him as tutor in some family, which the old lord did. 


92 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


Pedro Moselli felt grateful to Lord Landsmere, and beheld 
his infatuation for Madame Passo with alarm; still, the tutor 
was so situated that his tongue was tied. Nevertheless he de- 
termined, if possible, to save his friend from committing the 
folly of wedding an adventuress. 

A week after the intelligence of the wreck of the Lily of 
the Valley had reached England, Morelli called on the fair 
widow. 

He found her seated in her charming boudoir, reclining on 
a sofa and making as fair a picture as ever man’s eyes lingered 
upon; but all his admiration for his beautiful country-woman 
was gone, as he knew how false and fatal were her charms to 
his sxe. 

As the signor entered the room he bowed gracefully; after 
the usual salutations of the day he said: 

“ I have brought you some news, madame.” 

“ I hope it will be interesting. I began to think that Lon- 
don is a very dull city and Englishmen very stupid.” 

“ All but Lord Landsmere,” remarked Signor Morelli. 

“ He is a very talented man, but, amico mio, he has deserted 
me. I have not seen him for a week.” 

“ Ah, madame, that is because he is in a great deal of 
trouble. His favorite nephew has perished in the wreck of the 
Lily of the Valley. See, here is a paragraph I have marked 
for you,” replied Morelli, as he handed a copy of the Times, 
which had a long obituary notice of Sir Clement Huntingford, 
to his hostess. 

“Ah!” exclaimed the madame, Mr. Harry Huntingford is 
his brother’s heir.” 

“ He is also Lord Landsmere ’s successor, unless, as Madame 
Rumor says, he will marry again in order to prevent his re- 
maining nephew from becoming his heir.” 

“What do you mean?” asked the widow, looking at him 
with a strange expression on her face. 

“ That through the death of Sir Clement Huntingford you 
may succeed in your plans and become in time Lady Lands- 
mere.” 

“ Indeed! ” said Madame Passo, shrugging her shoulders. 

“Yes, madame; his lordship detests his nephew Harrv 
Huntingford.” 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


93 


“ You are jesting, signor.” 

” No, madame, I am serious. You have come to London 
in order to entrap a rich husband. Well, you have succeeded 
in making an impression on Lord Landsmere.” 

The widow had the grace to blush and look conscious. 

Signor Morelli was amused at the expression upon her 
face, and said, smiling sarcastically: 

“Suppose I were to tell him of your past?” 

“ Hush!” cried Madame Passo, looking alarmed. 

“ Ah, madame it must be very annoying to remember our 
past follies when we desire to pose for being immaculate.” 

“ Signor, the tone that you have of late assumed toward me 
has become unbearable,” said the lady, impatiently. 

“ Oh, madame I do not doubt that you find my cynic 
philosophy unbearable. I also remind you of a certain 
secret.” 

“Hush, hush!” cried Beatrice, trembling with emotion. 
“You promised me never to recall that frightful event. I do 
not remind you of your past life.” 

“ Per Bacco, I should think not. I am with you as I really 
am, I do not lie. Were I to descant to you upon my wisdom, 
would you not impatiently exclaim ” 

“ But, sir, your wisdom did not prevent you from ruining 
yourself, first by politics, then by losing your money at 
play.” 

“Ah, madame, I am not a saint. I was a fool — I con- 
tracted debts to the amount of five thousand pounds, which 
you were kind enough to loan me to satisfy my creditors.” 

“ I hope I am too much your friend, Pedro, to think unkindly 
of you,” said Madame Passo, quietly. “ If you chose to dis- 
course on your prudence and wisdom I should not feel exas- 
perated I should believe you.” 

“Good!” exclaimed the signor, with an amused smile. 
“ Now you are practicing hypocrisy on my account. Ah! you 
are a strange woman, and I am your debtor.” 

“ I can assure you I am not at all afraid of losing my five 
thousand pounds. I know you will repay me.” 

“ Doubtless. I don’t happen to have them at present, but I 
have an uncle who represents them. You did me a great 
service, which I shall not forget. So do with me as you 


94 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


please. I will serve you; and ; our secret, which I know too 
well, I will keep.” 

“ But what you call my secret is only a mournful memory.” 

“ You are as skillful in deceiving yourself as you are in de- 
ceiving others. But I know the truth.” 

“ The truth,” exclaimed Beatrice, shuddering. 

“Yes, madame, the truth. Five years ago you were travel- 
ing in France. Sir Edward Howard met you and loved you. 
You yielded to his suit and granted him a rendezvous in the 
pavilion near the old Castle of La Vergne. You were watched 
by some of the guests of La Vergne who followed you. 
Hearing the sounds of voices. Sir Edward, fearing to com- 
promise you, leaped from the window ” 

“For Heaven’s sake, hush! you torture me!” exclaimed 
Madame Passo, in an agitated tone of voice. 

“ Sir Edward’s pistol caught in the sill of the window and 
exploded. He fell bathed in his own blood.” 

“ I was not responsible for the accident. I could not help 
it.” 

“At least, you should not have fled — you abandoned the 
man who loved you — left him to die alone because you feared 
being discovered with him.” 

“ But I weep for him. I see him in my dreams continually,” 
said Beatrice, with emotion. 

“ And I pity you for having still a remnant of conscience 
left to reproach you.” Ah, madame, such sufferings are often 
unendurable. Why do you desire to marry my old friend. 
Lord Landsmere, when you still cling to the memory of your 
dead lover?” 

“ I hate my present mode of life. I would cease to be my 
brother’s tool.” replied Beatrice Passo, with energy. 

“ But why not find a younger man, who would suit you 
better? ” 

“You are mistaken. I prefer Lord Landsmere.” 

“ Ah, madame, I see that you are ambitious.” 

“You can aid me in my project, by giving his lordship a 
hint that I admire him. Amico mio^ you can assist me to 
gratify my ambition, for Lord Landsmere entertains a great 
regard for you.” 

“What? Corpo di Bacco!” cried Signor Morelli, smiling. 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 95 

“You wish that I should make a love confession for you to his 
lordship. But what will you tell him then?” 

“ Oh, I will tell him the contrary.” 

“And why? ” 

“ That he may believe it.” 

“Why, madame, that he may believe it?” asked Signor 
Morelli, looking at the beautiful widow with surprise. 

“ No, no,” laughed Madame Passo. “ How stupid you are! 
I will tell him that I do not love him to make him believe that 
I do. Now, do you understand me?” 

“Yes, I understand. Your plan, madame, is very 
ingenious.” 

“ And it would not be a bad idea to speak of me with cold- 
ness, as of a person with whose character and opinions you 
had no sympathy.” 

“That would not be very difficult,” muttered the signor 
under his breath, as he rose and walked to the window. 

“You might even tell him that I had many faults — one 
among others, which unfits me to be his wife.” 

“And, pray, madame, what is the one fault you will conde- 
scend to have? Sometimes I wonder, when I am in your pres- 
ence and the old infatuation for the moment seizes me, if I had 
not done you an injustice. Ah, Beatrice, when we first met I 
was your slave. I loved you devotedly. You were not unkind 
in those days, but fate was against us. I became an exile, my 
fortune was compromised and — we parted.” 

“ Do not think of the past, amico mio: I feel that I am the 
most unfortunate woman living when I think of the old days,” 
said Madame Passo, sadly. 

“ Beatrice, you loved wealth more than truth. You wish 
to entrap this old man in order that you may pass the rest of 
your life in luxury; and you ask me — your former lover — to 
aid you,” said Morelli, bitterly. 

“ Because I know I can trust you,” replied Beatrice. 

“Well, madame, tell me the rest of your clever pro- 
gramme.” 

“Tell Lord Landsmere that I am too romantic ; that I like 
solitude and silence; that I dislike the noise and gayeties of 
the world.” 

“ Love in a cottage, my dear Beatrice. You are right. It 


96 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


is the surest way of captivating a gouty old Almaviva, who 
wishes to be loved for himself alone, to declare that you will 
marry for love alone. Ah, madame, you have a head for 
scheming, I see.” 

“ I believe that Lord Landsmere takes pleasure in my soci- 
ety. I believe that he loves me.” 

“ Oh, Beatrice, what man has ever been known to resist 
you, once you have thrown the glamour of your charms over 
him. You know your power, madame, and you use it to for- 
ward your own interest.” 

“Ah, signor, do not be too severe. You ought to make 
some allowance for my unfortunate position.” 

“I do, my friend — I pity you, but I despise myself when I 
aid you to deceive an honorable man like Landsmere. You 
see I am cruelly candid.” 

“So I perceive,” replied the madame, looking at her watch. 

“ I see that you have either another engagement, or you 
desire me to take my departure. Adieu, madame. I will 
call to-morrow when I am sure of finding my friend Lands- 
mere here,” and with a low bow and a smile Signor Morelli 
left the room. 

When he found himself in the street he muttered; 

“What a hypocrite that woman is! Why have I need of 
her? Accursed be the day on which she saved me! I hate 
her, yet I must serve her. All for the want of a few thousand 
pounds; I know the secrets of her life, and I would to Heaven 
that I could find some means to warn my noble friend against 
the woman who is plotting to entrap him in a marriage that 
will prove his ruin, and bow his head in shame and sorrow if 
she becomes his wife.” 


CHAPTER XV. 


A TURN OF fortune’s WHEEL. 

Harry Huntingford, when he read the account of the 
wreck of the Lily of the Valley, which Captain Norris made 
public on his arrival in Liverpool, rejoiced. He felt that his 
brother’s death was a very fortunate circumstance for him. 
John Saunders, the lawyer who had charge of both the Sutton 
and Huntingford estates, was almost as pleased at the turn of 
Fortune’s wheel as the heir-at-law. He had had charge of 
the property for years, and was loath to surrender his trust. 
He knew that he could hoodwink Harry Huntingford more 
readily than his elder brother. 

There was a third party who read the report of the Ocean 
Monarch’s captain — the man who had conceived the idea of 
blowing up the steamer for his own aggrandizement — Isadore 
Jacobs, who rejoiced that the truth was not even suspected, as 
the survivors of the wreck, who died aboard the ocean Mon- 
arch, had not been able to give an account of the cause of 
the disaster, they being delirious from their intense sufferings. 

Isidore Jacobs felt the pangs of remorse for a brief mo- 
ment, then the innate selfishness of the man triumphed over 
every other consideration, and his heart beat with avaricious 
joy as he thought of the large amount of insurance he could 
claim for the false diamonds which he had placed aboard the 
Lily of the Valley. 

The genuine diamonds, which he had obtained from the un- 
fortunate miners, he had brought home with him in his belt. 
He had left Cape Colony a few days after the Lily of the Val- 
ley had sailed from her port, consequently he had been in 
London a week prior to the arrival of the Ocean Monarch at 
Liverpool. A few days after his return home he entered into 
partnership with his brother Solomon, who had an office on 
Oxford Street. 

7 


97 


98 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


A modest sign, bearing the name . of Solomon Jacobs, 
broker, hung over the small side door that led the visitor up 
one flight of stairs to the suite of handsomely furnished rooms 
that Solomon Jacobs occupied. The front apartment was fur- 
nished as a drawing room, with a private reception room on 
the right, and a large one on the left, which was his office. 
The iron safe stood in a corner of the office, and at a desk sat 
two clerks, busily writing. On a row of shelves were arranged 
ledgers in alphabetical order. 

Solomon Jacobs would have surprised some of the hus- 
bands of his fair customers by pointing out their names on his 
books. Titled ladies often pledged their diamonds for a 
stated time to gratify some extravagant caprice. Stern neces- 
sity often drove the sex to seek Solomon’s office, and he thus 
became the possessor of diamonds which were never redeemed. 

He also loaned money on bonds and mortgages, and at 
times he was obliging enough to advance money, providing 
the borrower got a friend to become his security. When 
Isidore Jacobs entered into partnership with his brother, the 
sign was changed to “J^-cobs Brothers, Brokers.” Isidore had 
paid Solomon a large amount for an interest in the business. 
The latter was very willing to accept his brother as a partner, 
especially as he thought Isidore had more ability than himself 
to make money. 

Two days after the news reached London of the wreck of 
the Lily of the Valley, Isidore Jacobs sat in the drawing-room 
attached to the office reading the Times, when Dr. Harkins, 
who kept a private lunatic asylum, entered. Jacobs laid aside 
the newspaper and arose, saying with a bland smile: 

“ My dear sir, what can I do for you? ” 

“ I wish to see Mr. Solomon Jacobs,” replied Dr. Harkins, 
“on a matter of business.” 

“ I am very sorry that you cannot see him, as he left this 
morning for Paris, where he intends to remain some weeks. 
Solomon’s health suffered from his close application to busi- 
ness, and he has gone away for a little while.” 

“ I am glad that he has had common sense enough to take 
my advice.” 

“ Oh you are Dr. Harkins. Solomon told me that you 
urged him to take a vacation six months ago.” 

“ I did, sir, for he was killing himself by inches.” 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


99 


“ I am delighted to meet you, my friend. I have become 
a partner in this business, therefore I shall be happy to attend 
to the business which you have called about.” 

“I called about that note of three hundred pounds, which 
my partner, Dr. Windham, indorsed for me.” 

“Yes, my brother told me that it fell due to-day. I shall 
be happy to receive the money, doctor, for we are a trifle 
short of funds at present.” 

“My dear sir, it is utterly impossible for me to pay you. 
I called to see if you would not accommodate me by a renew- 
al of my note. 

“I am sorry to disoblige you, doctor, but if you cannot 
pay us, your partner. Dr. Windham, who indorsed you, must.” 

“But, my dear Mr. Jacobs, do be a little reasonable. Our 
business has been very dull.” 

“I thought you had plenty of patients. People who are 
not mad are sometimes locked up and I know you are paid 
handsomely for such patients.” 

“Precisely, my friend, but we must keep within the law — 
give me more time to pay that note, Jacobs. It is utterly be- 
yond me to pay you at present.” 

“Two weeks more, but not another hour. You see money 
is tight with us just now, and we have every cent out.” 

“You ought not to growl; your business pays you a hun- 
dred per cent.” 

“Your business ought to pay you a hundred per cent., 
doctor.” 

“If we kept asylums to lock up scoundrels, it would,” 
replied Dr. Harkins, as he left the room, slamming the door 
after him. 

“Holy Moses, what does he mean?” muttered Jacobs un- 
der his breath, as he changed color. “I wonder if he knows 
anything of my private affairs.” 

While Isidore Jacobs was recovering his composure, John 
Saunders entered the apartment. 

“Good-morning, Jacobs,” said that gentleman, smiling. 

“ Good-morning, my friend. Have you seen those insur- 
ance people yet?” 

“Yes, they will pay the money within the next ninety 
days, which is the time the law allows them after a steamer 


100 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


has been proved to be lost — of course, there can be no doubt 
that the Lily of the Valley is a total wreck, and that her entire 
cargo has been destroyed. Allow me to congratulate you. 
upon being so far-sighted as to insure your diamonds.” 

“ I would have been a fool if I had not insured them. 
Why, I have an insurance policy on my mother-in-law’s life. 
Blooming Rachel! I’ll be a happy man the day that is paid.” 

“You don’t love your wife’s mother, Jacobs?” 

“ No, there’s not much affection between us,” he replied, 
with a sigh. 

At this moment Harry Huntingford entered the room. 
He was dressed in deep mourning, and tried to appear as if he 
felt sorry for the brother who had met such a sad fate; but his 
face betrayed him — his countenance wore a strange, exulting 
expression. 

“ Good-morning, gentlemen,” he said, as he entered. 

Both the lawyer and the money-lender shook hands with 
him. 

Isidore Jacobs then asked him: 

“ My dear friend, how can I serve you?” 

“ By loaning me a hundred pounds. I am short of cash at 
present. Mr. Saunders will tell you that I can give you good 
security. I only want the money for a day or two, until our 
friend here can put me in legal possession of my estates.” 

“Certainly, my dear boy, you are welcome to two hundred 
pounds if you wish it.” 

“ I only want a hundred for a week. You charge ten per cent., 
do you not?” 

“ We do,” replied the money-lender, dryly. 

Isidore Jacobs wrote a check for a hundred pounds and 
handed it to Harry Huntingford, who placed it in his pocket- 
book just as a boy came into the room. The lawyer looked at 
the boy in surprise, and said: 

“Why, Tom, what brought you here?” 

“ I ran after you, sir, with this dispatch which arrived just 
as you had left the office. I thought it might be of some 
consequence.” 

“ Thank you, Tom,” replied the lawyer, as he opened the 
telegram, which he read twice, and then, without a word, he 
took Isidore Jacobs aside and handed it to him. 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


lOI 


“ Blooming Rachel! ” cried Isidore, turning pale. “ I must 
get my hundred pounds back somehow.” 

He coolly turned to Harry Huntingford and said: 

“ Please, let me see the check I gave you. I think I made 
a mistake, and drew it for two hundred pounds.” 

“ I do not think so,” answered Huntingford, as he took the 
check out of his pocketbook and gave it to Jacobs. The latter 
looked at it a moment, and then tore it up. 

Harry Huntingford looked amazed, but when he had 
recovered from his surprise sufficiently, he demanded: 

“ What do you mean by tearing up that check? ” 

“ I mean that I cannot loan you the money, sir.” 

“ Do you mean to insult me?” 

“I do not, Mr. Huntingford, but you had better be told the 
truth. Your brother. Sir Clement Huntingford, has arrived in 
London.” 

“ Impossible! He perished in the wreck of the Lily of the 
Valley.” 

“ He did not, for here is a dispatch which he has just sent 
me,” replied the lawyer, as he handed the telegram to the 
astonished man. Harry Huntingford looked at it a moment 
as if he could not believe his senses, then he read as follows: 

“ Meet me to-night at Morrison’s Hotel. I have just 
arrived. Inquire for Charles Hartley. 

“Clement Huntingford.” 

“Great Heavens! so he is alive, and I am ruined! ” cried the 
disappointed man, as he fell into a chair and groaned aloud. 

“We are all ruined!” said Isidore Jacobs. 

“ It is a very deplorable piece of business, my young friend. 
I would much rather that you inherited the estates than your 
brother. Something must be done at once to prevent Clement 
Huntingford from claiming his estates.” 

“What can you suggest?” asked Harry Huntingford. 

“ He must not call on me to-morrow morning. You must 
prevent it — if he calls you are ruined, for he is the heir-at-law.” 

“ How can I prevent him from calling on you?” 

“ Many persons have mysteriously disappeared in London. 
If he calls on me to-morrow, you are a ruined man. Will 
he keep his engagement?” 

“ He shall not keep it!” exclaimed Harry Huntingford, 
as he seized his hat and took his departure. 


102 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


“What does he intend to do ?” asked Isidore Jacobs. 

“ Remove his brother,” replied the lawyer, coolly. 

“ Has he the courage ?” demanded Jacobs. 

“ I hope so, for we are ruined otherwise. I will have 
to give a strict account of the management of the estates, 
which will not be such an agreeable matter, for Sir Charles 
Huntingford left everything in my hands, you know.” 

“ Oh, I understand. You hate to relinquish your steward- 
ship. My dear boy, I appreciate your feelings; it is very hard 
to give up a paying investment.” 

“You are right. I should feel annoyed if I had to sur- 
render the management of the estates of another party,” 
sighed the lawyer. 

“ My dear boy, it is a positive misfortune that Sir Clement 
Huntingford was saved from the wreck. Blooming Rachel ! 
the insurance people will not pay me a cent.” 

“Why not ?” demanded Saunders. 

“ I will tell you the truth, my dear fellow. You are my 
lawyer, and therefore there should be no secrets between us. 
The Lily of the Valley was blown up by dynamite. I know 
the man who put the clocks on board of her.” 

“ Great Heaven !” cried Saunders. “ Sir Clement Hunting- 
ford, if he knows the truth, is just the man to have the whole 
affair investigated. If you have had a hand in this business, 
you stand a fair chance of being sent to Newgate. All the 
lawyers in London couldn’t save you.” 

“You hurt my feelings when you make such an insinua- 
tion,” answered Jacobs. 

“ I suppose so,” said the lawyer, dryly, but he thought that 
Isidore Jacobs had not told him the entire truth. With a 
gloomy brow and a presentiment of approaching evil, he bade 
his friend adieu and returned to his office. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


THE MYSTERIOUS HOTEL MURDER. 

Three days after the arrival of the Ocean Monarch at 
Liverpool, the steamer Queen arrived at London, having on 
board the four passengers whom Captain Gray had rescued 
from the raft. 

Mary Blythe was restored to her usual health, but although 
feeling grateful for her merciful deliverance, her heart was 
sad. She mourned over the unhappy fate of Major Robinson 
and his little daughter, whom she had devotedly loved; 
Clement Huntingford, did his utmost to comfort her, and he 
had the satisfaction of seeing her spirits revive before they 
reached their destination. When they at last reached London, 
Mary Blythe immediately telegraphed to her mother to pre- 
pare her for her arrival. She then drove to the railroad station 
with Clement Huntingford. He got her ticket and saw her 
seated in a first-class carriage. As he stood on the platform 
and waved a farewell to the fair girl he loved so devotedly, he 
smiled as the train steamed out of the depot. He was 
thinking that in a few days he could go down to Sutton and 
reveal his identity. He imagined her surprise when she dis- 
covered who he really was. He no longer feared that she 
would misjudge him, as he knew that she loved him and under- 
stood him sufficiently not to believe him guilty of ill-treating 
any woman, especially Clara Richards, whom he had known 
since she was a child. Clement could not foresee that his 
parting with Mary Blythe would be for months instead of days. 
He returned to the hotel to await the arrival of Ned Owen, 
who had gone to find his sister Mabel. The lad entered 
their sitting-room a few minutes after Clement had returned, 
looking very weary. 

“ Well, Ned, have you found your sister? ” 

“ No, sir; Mabel left the house she lodged in two years ago, 

103 


104 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


and the landlady could not give me her address. She says 
she has gone on the stage, and is known as Mademoiselle Cora. 
She plays in horse pieces, and is about the best ring rider in 
the business. ” 

“ Cheer up, Ned, we’ll find her without fail to-morrow if 
she is so well known. ” 

“What are horse plays, Mr. Hartley?” 

“Plays in which horses are introduced. I suppose your 
informant would call Shakespeare’s ‘Henry V.’ a drama 
of that description.” 

“I think the lodging-house keeper must be mistaken. Our 
Mabel could only ride my uncle’s farm-horses when father and 
I left England. I am sorry that she has gone on the stage.” 

“Nonsense, Ned, you will find that Mabel knows how to 
take care of herself. Poor girl! you must remember that she 
has been alone in London, and has had to support herself some- 
how.” 

“When father and I left for Cape Colony she was employed 
in Mrs. West’s dressmaking establishment on Regent Street.” 

Oh, well, I suppose she got tired gf sewing, and thought 
she would try another line of life. What did you say her stage 
name was?” 

“Mademoiselle Cora,” replied Ned. 

“Ring the bell, Ned; and let us have some supper; you look 
tired. I’ll look over the papers before I retire and see if I can 
find Mademoiselle Cora’s name in the theatrical announce- 
ments.” 

After they had their supper, Ned Owen went to their bed- 
room, which adjoined their sitting-room, and brought out a 
new tin case which he had purchased that day, saying: 

“Mr. Hartley, I put the diamonds in this box. My belt 
hurt me, and I was obliged to take it off; besides, I didn’t feel 
safe walking about London with them on my person.” 

“You were right, lad; but it was equally imprudent to lock 
them up in a bureau drawer. You must deposit them in the 
bank to-morrow until we can dispose of them.” 

“Please take charge of the box, Mr. Hartley. I will keep 
awake all night if I have it in my room. You know Mabel’s 
fortune is in it.” 

“Yes, Ned, I will take care of it for you. We will put it in 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 10$ 

a safe place to-morrow. I promised your father to be your 
friend, and I will keep my word.” 

“I know you will, Mr. Hartley. You have acted like an 
elder brother to me since the hour of that terrible explosion.” 

“Go to bed, Ned; you look tired,” said his friend, anxious 
to change the subject, for he did not care to hear the boy 
praise him for what he considered was his duty. 

“Good-night, Mr. Hartley,” said Ned, gaping. “I am so 
sleepy I can hardly keep my eyes open.” 

“Good night, Ned, and pleasant dreams. I will retire early 
myself, unless Mr. Saunders, whom I am expecting, calls on 
me.” 

When Ned Owen left the sitting-room, his friend looked 
at his watch, and was surprised to see that it was after nine 
o’clock. 

“It is strange that Saunders has not called. Perhaps he 
has answered my dispatch, and addressed it to Sir Clement 
Huntingford. I had better go down-stairs and inquire,” he 
said aloud, as he lowered the gas and left the room, forgetting 
to lock up the tin case whieh contained the diamonds. 

Five minutes after Clement Huntingford left the chamber, 
a loud knock on the door announced a visitor. The knock 
was repeated, then the door was opened, and Pat Malone en- 
tered. 

He looked around the room, and then went into the adjoin- 
ing one, where Ned Owen was sound asleep. 

Malone then returned to the sitting-room and turned up the 
gas. As he did so he caught sight of the tin case on the table. 

“By George! I’m in luck. The diamonds must be in that 
box. They have not had time to dispose of them yet,” he said, 
under his breath. 

Malone put his hand into his pocket and took out a large 
clasp-knife, with which he coolly tried to break open the box. 

Just then Clement Huntingford entered the room, and, 
swiftly advancing to where the burglar stood, caught him by 
the collar, exclaiming: 

“You scoundrel! I am going to hand you over to justice. 
You shall not go unpunished this time.” 

“ Oh, please don’t, Mr. Hartley. I’m a bad lot, but I’m 
starving. I have not a farthing to buy bread with.” 


io6 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


“ Pshaw! Malone, you would not be honest even if you had 
a chance to be respectable. It is not your nature. You are 
a dangerous man, and ought to be locked up for the benefit of 
society.” 

“ P'or Heaven’s sake, give me one more chance! Remember 
we were partners together, Charley.” 

“You are right. We were partners, but you robbed me of 
my share of the diamojids, and, in turn, you were robbed and 
left wounded in the tent. You paid for your folly, for you 
were ill for some months.” 

“Yes, I would have died, but for your care. You loaned 
me money to make a fresh start with afterward, and I ought 
to be a better man than I am. Give me another trial for the 
sake of old times. ” 

“ I don’t feel that I am doing right, but, for the sake of old 
times, take this and go,” Clement replied, as he handed Pat 
two sovereigns.” 

“ Thank you, sir. May Heaven reward ” 

“ I don’t want any thanks. Go, and try to reform,” said 
Clement, as he sat down and took up the evening paper. 

Pat Malone said good-night, left the room, which he 
quietly entered a moment afterward, and hid behind the cur- 
tains of one of the windows. 

“ It is a wonder that Saunders does not come,” thought the 
baronet, as he looked at his watch and saw it was nearly ten 
o’clock. “ Perhaps he is out of town. To-morrow I will call 
on him; then I will help Ned to find his sister, and after that, 
I will go to Sutton and see my dear old aunt and suprise Mary. 
I wonder what she’ll say when she learns that I am Clement 
Huntingford? It will not make any difference to the dear 
girl; she loves me for myself, not for my wealth or position,” 
he thought. 

Then he tried to concentrate his mind on looking over the 
theatrical announcements of the evening’s paper for Made- 
moiselle Cora’s name. 

While his attention was thus engrossed, he did not hear the 
stealthy footsteps that ciept so softly behind his back. 

The unsuspecting man read on, unconscious of his danger. 

At this moment, Malone took out a pocket-handkerchief, 
and a small bottle containing a white liquid, from his pocket. 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 10/ 

He saturated the handkerchief with the chloroform, and 
held it to Clement Huntingford’s nostrils. 

It was in vain that the baronet tried to struggle against in- 
haling the chloroform, for Malone held the handkerchief firmly 
until his victim was unconscious. 

He then hastily lowered the gas, and took the tin case con- 
taining the diamonds from the table. 

He was about to leave the room when he was startled by 
a loud knock on the sitting-room door. 

For a moment the robber was bewildered, but he quickly 
regained his presence of mind. 

He put out the gas and hid himself behind the window 
curtains; then he called out: 

“ Come in.” 

Harry Huntingford entered the room, and was surprised to 
find himself in darkness. 

He had dressed himself for the occasion in a dark suit, 
over which he wore a loose overcoat, and a black, low-crowned 
hat, which was pulled over his eyes. In his right hand he 
carried a walking-cane. 

“Wait a moment. I’ll light the gas,” said Malone. 

The robber then crept softly toward the door, hugging the 
tin case close to his breast, and trying to push out of the room, 
saying, as he did so: 

“ I cannot find the matches. I will have to ring for the 
waiter to come and light the gas. I did not expect you to 
call so late; I was going to bed.” 

“ I only just heard of your arrival,” f^plied Harry Hunt- 
ingford, mistaking Malone for his brother. 

This shrewd piece of acting cost Pat Malone his life, for, 
just as he was about to pass out of the door, he received a 
stunning blow on the back of his head from Harry Hunting- 
ford’s loaded cane, and fell at his assassin’s feet with a heavy 
thud. 

Harry Huntingford hastily closed the door, and fled from 
the scene of his crime, feeling like Cain after he had murdered 
Abel. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


THE SILENT WITNESS. 

On the morning that Harry Huntingford received the un* 
welcome announcement of his brother’s arrival in London, 
from John Saunders, he returned to Morley’s Hotel, feeling 
that he was a ruined man. The fortune which he coveted 
and which he thought was within his grasp, was no longer his. 

His brother, whom he hated, had returned to claim his 
own. 

“ What shall I do to prevent Clement from taking posses- 
sion of his estate?” he asked himself, as he sat wearily down 
and laid his head on the table, as though he never cared to lift 
it up again. 

He sat thus for an hour; then he sprung to his feet, mut- 
tering fiercely: 

“He shall not ruin me! It is an unjust law that makes the 
eldest son the heir!” 

He walked up and down the chamber several times, think- 
ing intently; suddenly he paused and cried: 

“ I will do it !” 

There flashed a look of determination into his eyes, but the 
flush faded from his blonde face, and the livid whiteness of 
deadly anger took its place. 

Ringing the bell he told the waiter to order him a cab, and 
then he hastily picked out a suit of clothes, packed it in his 
valise, and took a heavy loaded cane from the number of 
walking-sticks that stood in the corner of his apartment. He 
was ready as soon as the waiter came up-stairs to tell him the 
cab was waiting. 

He told the man to put the valise in the cab, and did not 
appear to be in any hurry, as he lingered a moment on the 
hotel steps, and beckoned the waiter to him. 

Harry did not wish the man to know where he was going, 
for a particular reason of his own. 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


109 


He dropped a half crown into the waiter’s hand, swiftly en- 
tered the cab, and ordered the driver to go to Morrison’s 
Hotel. 

On his arrival at the hotel Harry was shown to a room on 
the same floor that his brother’s apartment opened on. He 
did not even have to inquire what rooms his brother occupied, 
for as he was shown to his chamber he caught a glimpse of his 
brother through the open door of his sitting-room. Clement 
Huntingford’s back was turned toward the door, and he did 
not see Harry, who saw him. 

Harry Huntingford dined in his own apartment. After 
dinner, he told the servant to bring his bill and to call him at 
half-past ten, as he was going to take the eleven o’clock train 
for Dover en route for Paris. When his dinner was over he lay 
down and slept several hours; then he unpacked the valise, and 
changed the suit of clothes he wore for the suit which he had 
brought with him. 

Entering his brother’s apartment, he committed the crime 
which he had so coolly planned. It was but the work of a 
moment to return to his own chamber. 

The few drops of blood that were on his cane he tried to 
wash off, but the crimson drops could not be erased so easily. 
He then took his pen-knife out and scraped the cane, so as to 
destroy all evidence of his crime. 

Then he packed up the hat and suit which he had last at- 
tired himself in, and resumed the costume which the waiter 
had seen him wear. Lighting his cigar, he rang the bell and 
took up an evening newspaper, and was apparently absorbed in 
its contents when the waiter knocked at his door. 

“ Have you brought my bill? ” 

“ Yes, sir, ” replied the waiter, “ and your cab is waiting. ” 

“ Thank you, ” replied Harry Huntingford, looking at his 
watch. “By Jove! it is after ten o’clock. I’ll have to hurry if 
I want to catch my train.” 

He gave the waiter the money to pay the bill, telling him 
to keep the change. 

The man thanked him, and carried his valise, which he 
placed in the cab. 

Harry Huntingford told the waiter to tell the driver to drive 
him as fast as possible to the Dover Railway Station. 


no 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


On his arrival at the station, he dismissed the cab and 
walked through the waiting room, where he opened his valise, 
and taking oS his traveling-cap, replaced it by the soft felt hat 
he had worn when he committed the murder. 

He drew his hat over his eyes, and then walked out of the 
waiting-room, hailed a cab, and was driven to Morley’s hotel. 

When he found himself once more in his own chamber, he 
felt relieved, and thought that he had managed the whole 
matter very cleverly, for he had given an assumed name at 
Morrison’s Hotel. 

The waiter who usually attended to his wants, was not sur- 
prised to see him return, for Harry Huntingford had told him 
that he had gone to Sutton to dine, and, as he had a business 
engagement early in the morning with his lawyer, he had 
thought it best to return to town that evening. 

* * * * * 

The murderer had just been driven away from the scene of 
his crime when the bell connecting with Sir Clement Hunting- 
ford’s apartment was rung violently. The waiter who answered 
the summons, was surprised upon entering the room to find 
that it was enveloped in darkness. He asked: 

“ Have you no matches, sir? ” 

“ I cannot find them. Light the gas,” replied Sir Clement, 
faintly. 

The waiter lit the gas and was surprised to sec how ghastly 
pale Sir Clement was. 

“Are you ill, sir?” asked the waiter. 

“Yes, my head feels dizzy,” he answered, as he held on to 
the back of the chair for support. 

“The room smells queer, sir,” remarked the man. 

“Yes, I have been chloroformed and robbed.” 

“ Robbed, sir! ” exclaimed the waiter in astonishment. 

“Look here!” cried Sir Clement, pointing to the body of 
Pat Malone. 

The two men stared at the silent form of the unfortunate 
burglar, and then, with a sudden impulse, they both bent over 
him. 

Sir Clement Huntingford looked at the insensible man 
lying so still at his feet. 

The box of diamonds lay beside Pat on the floor. 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


Ill 


Hall 


What does it mean?” Clement demanded. 

Faith, I don’t know, sir. I had better go and call Mr. 


“Yes, go and call your master. Be quick! Malone may 
not be dead.” 

The horrified and puzzled waiter hastened to call the hotel 
proprietor. 

Sir Clement Huntingford told a very plain story of how 
Malone had attempted to rob him on that evening, and also 
how he had released him. 

The pocket-handkerchief with which Pat had chloroformed 
him, was found on the chair in which he had been sitting, and 
the empty bottle, which had contained the drug, was on the 
table yet. 

Circumstantial evidence of the case clearly proved that Pat 
Malone had chloroformed and robbed Sir Clement, 

The mysterious part of the affair was, how did the robber 
receive that dreadful blow on the head? 

This question no one could answer. 

The only hope of solving the mystery was that the wound- 
ed man might recover his senses, but the unhappy creature 
remained unconscious even after he was removed to the hos- 
pital, in spite of the physicians’ efforts to restore sensibility. 

The guests of the hotel, when they heard of the affair, did 
not pity Malone, as the diamonds had been found in his- pos- 
session. 

Every one thought that he had received his just desserts. 

The established theory was that the blow had been struck 
by a confederate, who had struggled with Malone for the pos- 
session of the diamonds, and an approaching footstep had 
frightened the burglar who had struck the blow and he fled 
without his prize. 

The next morning Ned Owen picked up a small seal with 
a gold head, which belonged to a gentleman’s watch-chain. 

The lad had found the trinket in the corner of the carpet 
near the sitting-room door. 

Sir Clement looked closely at the seal, staggered and 
groaned aloud, while every vestage of color fled from his face, 

“Are you ill, sir,” asked Ned Owen in alarmed suprise. 

“It is nothing, Ned; I am all right now.” 


II2 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


“Had you not better lie down awhile.” 

“Yes, I shall do so, Ned. Go and take a walk, and when 
you return I will be ready to go with you to the hospital.” 

“ I don’t like to leave you, sir You look so pale.” 

“ Oh, ril soon be better, Ned. Don’t mind me, go and take 
your walk.” 

Ned Owen reluctantly left the room, thinking that his 
friend acted strangely. 

The moment that Sir Clement found himself alone, he 
looked at the seal again. 

“ Great Heaven’s!” he cried, as he flung himself into a chair 
and thought, “ am I dreaming, or does this silent witness 
betray the real murderer of Pat Malone. Have I made a 
terrible mistake? Yet I have seen him wear this seal. It has 
the Huntingford crest. Could my own brother have sought 
my life for the sake of the wealth which I am the heir to? 
Can I trust myself to believe the evidence of my senses?” 

He arose hastily and walked the room with impatient 
strides, feeling that he had not yet drained his cup of misery 
to the dregs. 

When Ned Owen returned from his walk, Clement said to 
him: 

“ Go and order a cab. I must see Pat Malone. Heaven 
grant that he has recovered his senses!” 

“ Do you think that he will tell the truth?” asked his young 
friend. 

“ I do, Ned. Few men lie when they are on the borders of 
eternity. I am more anxious than ever to solve last night’s 
mystery.” 

“ What is your theory, sir?” 

“ My dear boy, don’t ask me, for Heaven’s sake. I am 
bewildered. My theory is too unnatural — too revolting — I 
would not shock you by disclosing it.” 

“ Have you made any fresh discoveries?” asked Ned Owen. 

“ I fear so, but I must not breathe my terrible suspicions to 
a living soul. I may be mistaken — pray Heaven that I am. 
Come, let us go and see Pat Malone. He alone can solve 
the mystery.” 

When they arrived at the hospital, they found that Malone 
had not recovered his senses. He lay motionless. The 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


II3 

breath of life remained in him — no more. The attending 
physician informed Sir Clement that his hours were numbered. 
He might live until evening, but he would never speak. 

Sir Clement left a sum of money to bury the unfortunate 
man, and also his address. He told the physician that he was 
exceedingly anxious to question Malone regarding the man 
who struck the fatal blow. The doctor smiled and shook his 
head. 

“ My dear Mr. Hartley, that fellow’s lips are sealed. He will 
never recover his consciousness.” 

“ I am very sorry to hear you say so, doctor, for I would 
give a great deal to speak to him,” replied the baronet, as he 
left Malone’s bedside. 

With a stern brow, he joined Ned Owen, who was waiting 
for him in the cab, and he ordered the driver to drive them to 
St. Clement’s inn. 


8 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


ACCUSED OF INSANITY. 

St. Clement’s Inn opens on the Strand. It has a queer- 
looking archway on the northern side, with enormous pillars, 
which looks more like the entrance to a palace than anything 
less pretending. The archway was a most grandiloquent pre- 
face to modest and ruinous St. Clement’s Inn, sadly infested 
with lawyers. The open court of the inn was one of the 
quaintest of places. The court was square, with a little cen- 
ter plot inclosed by what was once an iron fence of some so- 
lidity, but now it was in a state of melancholy dilapidation. 

The grass on the small bit of lawn was bright and green; 
but the two or three trees which were there looked forlorn 
enough. 

The buildings, made of brick, were of a sickly hue, and 
there was a stillness over everything like that of a country 
churchyard. 

This was the spot in honor of which the imposing archway 
had been erected; this was the home for lawyers. A more dis- 
mal, ghost-like place could not be found in all London. 

If the spot had been haunted by the spirits of the clients, 
the legal fraternity ruined, it could not have looked more dis- 
mal. The patch of beautiful green grass and the strip of 
heaven’s blue overhead, only made the gloominess more 
intense by contrast. 

The noise of the Strand was hushed, for a thick breast- 
work of buildings guarded the spot from the passionate cries 
and noises of the world; though the distance was not long — 
only a few steps from one of the busiest thoroughfares in 
London — yet this antiquated place was as quiet as if no mortal 
had placed his foot in it for half a century. 

In this quiet spot, over a stationer’s shop, John Saunders 
had his law office. 


114 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


II5 

The morning after the mysterious hotel murder, he sat at 
his desk reading the Times. Suddenly he sprung to his feet 
exclaiming, “The deed is done!” His clerk suddenly appeared 
from an inner office and asked if he had been called. 

“No, Williams. I was thinking aloud — a bad habit I some- 
times indulge in. I have some business to transact that may 
detain me for several hours. If any one calls for me say that 
I shall be in about two o’clock. ” 

“Yes, sir, ” answered the clerk, as he returned to his desk. 

The lawyer put on his hat and was about going down- 
stairs, when he met Isidore Jacobs coming up. 

“ I was just going to your place,” said Saunders. 

“ I thought I would catch you my dear boy,” replied Jacobs, 
entering the office and closing both the door that led into the 
inner office and the one leading to the hall-way. 

“ That clerk of yours is a smart chap, and it is always best 
to be careful,” said the Hebrew, throwing himself into a chair 
near Saunders desk. 

“ Have you any news? ” asked John Saunders, dryly. 

“ Rather, my dear boy,” replied Jacobs, taking a paper out 
of his pocket and reading as follows: 

“ Mysterious Hotel Murder. 

“ The guests at Morrison’s Hotel were startled by a strange 
murder which occurred there last evening. 

“ Mr. Charles Hartley, one of the passengers who were so 
providentially saved from the wreck of the Lily of the Valley, 
was chloroformed and murdered in his room. The crime was 
committed in order to obtain possession of some valuable 
diamonds whieh Mr. Hartley, very unwisely, kept locked up 
in a tin case. The box containing the diamonds was found 
beside the murdered man. ” 

The two plotters looked at each other for a moment in 
silence. At length John Saunders said: 

“ I did not believe Harry Huntingford had the pluck to re- 
move his brother.” 

“You see he had, my dear boy,” replied Jacobs. “I am 
glad of it, for I began to feel uneasy about that little affair of 
the Lily of the Valley, especially as my friend Blackstone 
wrote me that Le Grand, the Frenchman who made the two 


i6 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


clocks, has become insane; but you know people are not 
responsible for what they say when they are out of their senses.” 

“It is lucky that Sir Clement Huntingford is no more, for 
it does not matter what a madman says, but if a sane man cor- 
roborated his statements it might attract attention. ” 

“ You are right, Saunders, it might,” replied Jacobs. 

“ We must think of some plan to pursue with Harry Hunt- 
ingford, who, thanks to this little affair, is in our power.” 

“ Ah! so he is, my dear boy. We must squeeze him. Make 
him pay you handsomely for your services.” 

A knock on the office door startled the two plotters, who 
rose hastily. The lawyer called out “Come in,” as he walked 
toward the door. Harry Huntingford, looking pale and hag- 
gard, as if he had lived months of mental anguish instead of 
only a few hours, entered the room. 

“Good morning Sir Harry. How do you feel?” asked 
Saunders, as he shook hands with him. 

“I have one of my nervous headaches this morning.” 

“ My dear boy, you ought not to sit up so late. You have 
been playing cards at Rotunno’s again,” said Jacobs laying 
his hand on Huntingford’s shoulder. 

“No, I did not go there last night. I retired before twelve 
o’clock.” 

“That’s right my dear boy, turn over a new leaf,” answered 
Jacobs with a playful smile. “ Get married and settle down in 
the bosom of your family. Hotels are getting to be danger- 
ous abodes. I see that Mr. Charles Hartley was murdered last 
night. Here is an account of it,” and he handed him the copy 
of the Times which he had in his hand. 

“ Do you know, Jacobs, that that is a mysterious affair after 
all ? The box of diamonds was found in the room. The murderer 
must have been inexperienced,” said the lawyer, looking at 
Harry Huntingford, whose pale, tell-tale face mutely appealed 
to him for pity. He had commenced to suffer from the dread- 
ful pangs of remorse, though his conscience was not a tender one. 
He was one of those men we find in the world who are con- 
tinually deceiving themselves. He tried to justify himself to 
himself by thinking that he had a right to his father’s property, 
which an unjust law had given to his brother. He felt that he 
was in the power of these men, and he knew that they would 
use that power mercilessly. 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


II7 

“Oh, by the way, I wonder if that man who was murdered 
at Morrison’s Hotel was your half-brother ? ’’ asked the lawyer 
suddenly. 

“Who do you mean, Saunders ?’’ asked Harry Huntingford 
in a quick, nervous tone of voice. 

“Your father’s natural son, who left England years ago and 
was never heard of after. He was three years older than your 
brother Clement.” 

“ I am sure I do not know; I never saw Charles Hartley in 
my life.” 

“ If you did not your brother Clement did. They were 
great friends. Your father educated him as a gentleman, but 
he left England five years ago. He was a very independent 
lad, and preferred to seek his fortune elsewhere. It would be 
strange if he was the man who was murdered last night.” 

“ Pshaw, what nonsense you talk,” said Harry Huntinfgord, 
impatiently. “Did not my brother tell you to ask for Charles 
Hartley in the message he sent you yesterday?” 

“ I believe so,” replied Saunders, as he opened a drawer in 
his desk and took out the telegram and showed if to Harry. 
“Yes, he said ‘ask for Charles Hartley,’ ” said the lawyer, “so 
you see, my dear friend, it was Sir Charles Huntingford who 
was murdered last night.” 

“ While the lawyer and his two clients were discussing the 
mysterious murder, a gentleman entered the outer office and 
gave his card to John Saunders’ clerk, who brought it to his 
master. 

The lawyer looked at the card, then at Harry Huntingford, 
and all the color in his face faded away as he gasped: 

“Show him in. ” 

When Sir Clement Huntingford walked into the room, his 
brother fell into the nearest chair; Isidore Jacobs walked to 
the window, exclaiming: 

“ Blooming Rachel! here’s a pretty piece of business! ” 

“ Mr. Saunders, I sent you a telegram yesterday requesting 
you to call on me. ” 

“ I received it, sir, but I had a previous engagement, ” an- 
swered the lawyer coldly. 

“You might have been civil enough to wire me to that 
effect,^’ said Sir Clement, as he looked sternly at the lawyer. 


ii8 


FOR LOVET'oF gold. 


There ensued a painful pause which was interrupted by the 
entrance of Dr. Windham and his friend Dr. Harkins. 

The physicians bowed to John Saunders, and they turned 
to the window where Isidore Jacobs stood: 

“ We could not find you at your office, so we thought we had 
better hunt you up,” said Dr. Harkins. 

“ Just so, my dear boy. I suppose you have called to see me 
about that little note of yours for three hundred pounds. No 
use, my dear boy, you must get the money or take the conse- 
quences. ” 

“ But consider how disagreeable it will be for me to be obliged 
to pay this note for my friend. ” 

“ You ought to have thought of that, doctor, when you went 
his security, ” replied Jacobs, as he left the disappointed phy- 
sicians. 

Walking up to Sir Clement Huntingford, he said: 

“ Ah, I am delighted to see you, Mr. Hartley, ” and he ex- 
tended his hand toward the baronet, who folded his arms, 
while his face was dark with passion, and his voice vibrated 
with strong emotion as he exclaimed: 

“ You scoundrel ! how dare you to offer me your hand ? I know 
that you are the wretch who planned the destruction of the Lily 
of the Valley. You and Le Grand put the infernal machines on 
board of the steamer. ” 

“My dear Mr. Hartley, you must be mad. I know nothing 
about infernal machines. I never was on board the Lily of the 
Valley.” 

“ It is false; you sold me your passage ticket. At the last 
minute you changed your mind and would not sail in the 
doomed steamer. ” 

“You are mad, my dear boy. I don’t understand to what 
you are alluding, Mr. Hartley; but you hurt my feelings by 
such an accusation.” 

“ My name is Sir Clement Huntingford, sir,” replied the 
baronet, with dignity. 

“ I beg your pardon, Mr. Hartley, but I was informed that 
Sir Clement Huntingford was lost on board of the Lily of the 
Valley.” 

“ I was under the same impression,” said John Saunders, 
who suddenly turned toward Harry Huntingford and asked; 














1 





FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


1 19 

“ Is this gentleman Sir Clement Huntingford or Mr. Charles 
Hartley?” ^ 

“ Mr. Charles Hartley,” replied Harry Huntingford, calmly, 
as he looked at the lawyer. 

” Great Heaven!” cried the baronet, in surprised indigna- 
tion. ” Do you mean to tell me that I am an impostor? 
Surely the two years that I have been absent from England 
has not altered my identity. I may resemble Charles Hartley, 
as we are half-brothers, but certainly there is enough differ- 
ence in our appearance for you to recognize me.” 

“ No, sir, you are not Sir Clement Huntingford,” replied 
the lawyer. 

” I will go down to Sutton, and my dear old aunt will know 
me. She will swear to my identity,” replied Sir Clement, as 
Ned Owen walked into the office. 

” Mr. Hartley, please excuse me, interrupting you, but we 
will be late for our engagement,” said the lad. 

“I will join you immediately,” replied the baronet. 

“What is this gentleman’s name, my young friend?” de- 
manded the lawyer. 

“Mr. Charles Hartley, sir,” answered Ned Owen, who had 
known his friend only under his assumed name. 

“ It is the name you have known me by, Ned, but I am Sir 
Clement Huntingford.” 

“It is false!” cried Harry Huntingford. “ My brother 
Clement is dead.” 

“Oh, he’s mad,” said Isidore Jacobs. “You had better 
lock him up until he recovers his senses. These gentlemen 
will take charge of him; they have a beautiful place for their 
patients.” 

“Yes, I will commit him to their care,” said Harry Hunt- 
ingford with a wicked smile. 

“ But,” said Dr. Harkins, “ I would like to have another 
doctor’s opinion besides that of my partner. We must keep 
within the law.” 

“ Remember the three hundred pounds you owe me,” said 
Isidore Jacobs aside. 

“ Dr. Harkins and Dr. Windham, make out the necessary 
papers,” said Harry. “I will pay liberally for the care of 
Charles Hartley, as it is my duty to commit him to your care.” 


120 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


“ Great Heavens! into what hands have I fallen?” cried the 
baronet as he made a dash for the door, but the Jew was too 
quick for him. 

He drew a pistol and stood before the baronet, saying: 

“ You cannot leave this room, Mr. Charles Hartley.” 

“You shall all pay dearly for this outrage,” exclaimed the 
indignant man, who was quickly overpowered, gagged and 
handcuffed by the asylum doctors. 

They forced him down-stairs and into a cab that was wait- 
ing for them at the end of St. Clement’s Inn. 

Ned Owen was locked up in the inner office, in spite of his 
manful resistance, where he was detained for several hours. 

When John Saunders released him, he warned Ned that if 
he ever divulged what he had witnessed, he would be severely 
punished. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


MADEMOISELLE CORA. 

A RAW and rainy February evening in the last week of the 
month. 

Over London a murky, smoke-colored sky hung, dripping 
miserable tears over the muddy, smoke-colored city. The 
street lamps that had been lit all day, winked and flickered 
yellow and dismal specks in the fog. 

The streets of the city were filled with noisy, jostling life; 
the streets of the West End were silent and deserted. 

The deadest of all dead seasons had come; the great stone 
houses were hermetically sealed; the denizens of Belgravia and 
May P'air had flitted far away; even the brilliant gas-lit empo- 
riums of Regent Street were empty and deserted this foggy 
February evening. 

One place was an exception to the rule — the Alhambra 
Theater, of which Mademoiselle Cora was the bright and par- 
ticular star. 

The pretty, bright theater, on this rainy February evening 
was a contrast to the gloom without. It was crowded from 
pit to dome, for the piece, “ The Maid of Orleans,” had made 
a popular hit. 

When the curtain went up there was a flutter of expecta- 
tion; the audience could hardly wait for their favorite to come 
forward. When she did appear the applause was prolonged. 

Mademoiselle Cora was gloriously beautiful in her simple 
costume as the Maid of Orleans. She looked inspired. A 
woman whom her countrymen would follow to victory or 
death. 

She was rather above than below the medium height, with a 
perfectly formed figure. Her face was one that few persons, 
once having seen, ever forget. Her brow was high and white; 
large dark eyes lit up the whole of her face; her hair was dark 
chestnut, and fell in waves to her waist. 

121 


122 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


When Mademoiselle Cora rode to the footlights on a beau- 
tiful black horse, managing him with both skill and grace, the 
house rang with applause. 

When the curtain rose on the second act she came in at 
the head of the French army, chanting an old Norman hymn, 
while her followers joined in the chorus. The effect was 
wonderful. 

“ By Jove! what a voice Mademoiselle Cora has! " These 
and a hundred similar ejaculations ran the round of the 
house. 

Again Mademoiselle Cora sings, this time a battle song, in 
which she surpasses herself — again the whole house rings with 
applause — again bouquets are showered upon her — again the 
dark restless eyes flash their feverish light toward one of the 
stage-boxes, and still the man for whom she looks does not 
come. 

Just before the curtain falls on the second act Harry Hunt- 
ingford ente-rs the right-hand stage-box. Mademoiselle Cora’s 
eyes flash a welcome, and a smile lingers on her lips. 

Joan d’Arc never looked as fascinating as her representa- 
tive does at this moment. Having delivered Charles VH. from 
his enemies, and performed the most wonderful exploits, the 
heroic Maid of Orleans is captured. 

And well Mademoiselle Cora played the part. How noble 
she looks as she is accused by her enemies of sorcery, and con- 
demned to be burned at the stake. The excitement reaches its 
climax. She holds the multitude breathlessly spell-bound, so 
natural is her death scene in its tortured agony. The mimic 
flames arise — surround her — her uplifted face is seen above 
them as the curtain falls on the last act. 

For a moment, so rapt and petrified is the audience that it 
cannot applaud. Then such a storm of clapping, of calling, 
shakes the walls of the theater as they never shook 
before. “ Mademoiselle Cora — Cora — Cora!” is shouted as if 
with one voice. She appears before the curtain smiling and 
kissing her hand — another tempest of applause and delight 
breaks forth. Then, flashing one last glance straight into Harry 
Huntingford’s face, she disappears. There is evidently an 
understanding between the handsome actress and Harry Hunt- 
ingford. He has been known to attend the theater night after 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


123 


night. The truth is that Harry had fallen a victim to the 
charms of the ravishing Cora. She interested him, and he 
spent more hours with her than he did in the society of Miss 
Lumley, though the latter was his promised wife. 

As he left the theater he met Francisco Rotunno. 

“ How do you do, Huntingford? Mademoiselle Cora is a 
superb actress, isn’t she?” 

“ She has not an equal on the boards,” replied Harry Hunt- 
ingford. 

” Hard hit as ever, mio amicof Rotunno said, slipping his 
hand into Harry’s arm. “ I thought that was an old story, over 
and done with ages ago — that you had recovered your senses 
and were about to take unto yourself a wife from the daughters 
of the land? ” 

“ Not yet. I don’t care about matrimony just yet. You 
know Cora? ” 

“Yes, I have the honor,” replied Rotunno. 

“ But you were never one of her victims, though, were you?” 
asked Harry Huntingford. 

“Not I, mio amicOy' laughs Francisco Rotunno, good-hu- 
moredly. “ I am not one of her victims. She is a monstrous 
fine woman for those who admire her style, but she could not 
quicken my pulse by one beat. I prefer a woman who has not 
so many admirers, or one who is indifferent to our sex.” 

“Ah, you are like all your countrymen. Too jealous to 
share the smiles of the lady of your choice.” 

“ Perhaps so. I look upon beautiful women as I do upon pic- 
tures. The majority of them are simply painted dolls.” 

“You are too severe, Rotunno. I have known some noble 
women who were ready to make any sacrifice for the men they 
loved.” 

“ Certainly there are exceptions in the fair sex, or the world 
would not be fit to live in. Men and women who are really 
noble are rare, and when we meet them we ought to prize 
them.” 

“ I believe Cora has many good qualities. She smiles on all 
of us to a certain extent, though no man can boast of being 
her lover. There are two American millionaires ready to blow 
each others’ brains out about Mademoiselle Cora; then there is 
a German count with his five-and-twenty quarterings and an 


124 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


empty purse; last, but by no means least in this fair lady’s eyes, 
is yourself.” 

“ Nonsense! Rotunno, I am not so hard hit as you think.” 

“Then appearances are very deceitful, mio amico. I neve^ 
saw any one so far gone.” 

Huntingford's sleepy, half-closed eyes met the Italian’s as 
he slowly answered, “ Perhaps so. I wish I was going to marry 
her instead of Miss Lumley.” 

“She would suit you better than the lawyer’s daughter. 
Have you heard that our dashing actress has suddenly come 
into the possession of a fortune?” 

“ No, I have not seen her for the last two days.” 

“Did you ever hear her speak of her father?” 

“Yes, one evening when we were both with a gay party at 
Richmond, before the theater opened. She was saying that the 
only relatives she had were her father and a younger brother, 
both in Africa.’’ 

“ Her father, it appears, was on board the same steamer on 
which your brother perished.” 

“Good Heaven!” cried Harry Huntingford, as his face 
assumed a startling pallor. 

“ Her brother was saved with Mr. Charles Hartley, the gen- 
tleman who disappeared so suddenly after the mysterious mur- 
der was committed in his room at Morrison’s hotel.” 

Huntingford’s face settled into an expression that the 
Italian had never seen on that careless, handsome countenance 
before. It was set and stern, and the genial blue eyes gleamed 
like steel, but he spoke very quietly. 

“ So the lad that was saved with Charles Hartley is her 
brother?” 

“ So goes the report. He is a handsome young fellow and 
looks like Mademoiselle Cora. He sat in the box opposite to 
you this evening. They say that he has brought back a fortune 
for his sister and himself,” replied the Italian. 

“A fortune!” exclaimed Harry Huntingford. 

“Yes, a large fortune. Her father was one of the most 
successful men in the diamond district. It was to steal those 
valuable diamonds that brought the robbers to Morrison’s 
Hotel. The bold thief lost his life and the diamonds were 
safe. The box was found lying beside the murdered man.” 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. I25 

“ I wonder if Mademoiselle Cora will retire from the stage?” 
questioned the young Englishman. 

” It is hard to tell. Some people say she is engaged to 
Lord Howard.” 

“ Pshaw! Rotunno. I don’t believe it. Howard would 
not allow her to carry on as she does.” 

“Understand me, Huntingford,” said the Italian, answering 
the other’s last sneer rather earnestly. “ I don’t mean to say 
that Mademoiselle Cora goes much further than some of your 
own frisky matrons do. A flirt she is a Voutrance — she would 
flirt with her own chasseur if no better game offered. Beyond 
this scandal goeth not. My Lord Howard can take care of 
his own — he is a dead shot and a noted duelist. If she is his 
promised wife, he will marry her, no matter what his noble 
family may say or do, but still I rather doubt the report.” 

“ So do I. Lord Howard admires her as we all do. He 
has made her some costly presents, which Cora has accepted. 
She is somewhat of an adventuress, you know. She will take 
the costly gifts offered to her and laugh at the unfortunate 
donors.” 

“ But I hate such women, they have not one atom of prin- 
ciple,” replied the Italian in disgust. 

“ Pray, do not condemn Cora. She is candid enough to 
tell us we are only losing our time. Your sister Beatrice does 
not accept gifts, but she hands over her victims to you to 
fleece.” 

“ We will not quarrel, mio amico. La Belle Cora is the 
fashion. She is a sorceress, but she understands the divine 
art of petits soupers better than any woman I ever met. 

“ She does indeed,” replied Harry with a sigh. 

“ I believe we have an engagement to sup with her to- 
morrow night,” said Rotunno. 

“ Yes, after the performance.” 

“ I will meet you at the theater,” answered the Italian as he 
bade Harry adieu and got into the carriage that was waiting 
for him. He did not dream how costly a pleasure Mademoi- 
selle Cora’s supper was to prove to him. 


CHAPTER XX. 


MAUD LUMLEY’S JEALOUSY. 

Maud Lumley did not feel particularly pleased at her be- 
trothed husband’s open neglect of her since he had succeeded 
to his brother’s title. They had been engaged almost two 
years, yet they were barely friends — no more. 

Their wedding day had been set and postponed twice. In 
the first instance on account of Sir Charles Huntingford’s 
death. The wedding day was again deferred when the news 
of the wreck of the Lily of the Valley reached England. 

The lawyer was delighted at the turn of affairs. He felt 
that Maud could y^ell aSord to wait a few months longer, for 
then she would wed a baronet who stood a very fair prospect 
of succeeding to his uncle’s title and estates; he would then 
be Lord Landsmere, and Mr. Lumley’s fondest hopes would 
be realized. 

Maud was not so much elated, for she began to question 
the wisdom of her father’s choice. She had not expected a 
great deal of affection, for her father had repeatedly told her 
that “ rank has its privileges — it also has its penalties.” One 
of these penalties was undemonstrativeness as regards love. 
Yet she felt that she had a right to expect a little more atten- 
tion, for she was a beautiful girl and one that any man might 
feel proud of. 

She was rather tall, but very graceful. Her features were 
regular and clearly cut; her eyes were dark blue and her hair 
was of a rich auburn shade, such as Vandyke had delighted to 
paint, and natural curls clustered around a brow as white as 
alabaster. 

Harry Huntingford was rather proud of the beautiful girl 
who was his promised wife, but he did not love her. She was 
very lovely, but she was not clever, and lacked wit. 

She did not amuse him as Mademoiselle Cora did. This 

126 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


127 


dashing actress could make him forget all his cares and fears 
in her presence, while Maud Lumley merely filled his eyes as 
a beautiful picture might. 

During the first few months of their engagement, Maud was 
pleased at the npvelty of the situation. It flattered her vanity 
to be betrothed to one of the handsomest men in London. 
The thought of rebellion against her fate had not occurred to 
her, she had been so completely drilled into obedience and 
accustomed to obey those in command over her, so used to 
accepting directions without inquiring into their merits, that 
she never dreamed of refusing her consent to the marriage. 

She told herself over and over again that she need feel no 
surprise at this strange wooing. His ways were not her ways. 
It was only persons belonging to the middle classes who in- 
dulged in expressions of affection. These were considered in 
bad form by the better classes in society. That love might 
come after marriage in place of before it. 

This state of affairs was all very well while she did not care 
for Harry Huntingford, but by degrees she began to love him, 
and then she suffered as only a woman can suffer when she 
realizes that the heart she covets will never belong to her. 

At first she did not know what made her feel so miserable, 
she was so simple and inexperienced in the ways of love. She 
knew nothing of the signs that herald its approach, she knew 
nothing of its pains, its tortures, its pleasures — she knew 
nothing of its thousand and one protean shapes. 

Maud knew not that she loved until she felt the pangs 
of jealousy. She made the discovery in this way: One 
morning an old school friend called on her and told her 
that her brother and Sir Harry Huntingford were both in love 
with Mademoiselle Cora, an actress who played the part of 
Joan d’Arc in the “ Maid of Orleans” at the Alhambra Theater. 

“You are mistaken, Alice; Sir Harry Huntingford could not 
be in love with this actress. You know that he is my promised 
husband.” 

“ I do, but he certainly is not loyal to you, for my brother 
says he makes her costly presents, and, almost every night, he 
is to be seen in one of the stage-boxes of the Alhambra 
Theater.” 

“ This is outrageous !” exclaimed Maud, while her face 
flushed hotly. 


128 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


“So it is. I thought it my duty to tell you. I would 
not allow any man to whom I was engaged to pay me so little 
' respect as that,” said Alice Grey, spitefully. 

She took a delight in inflicting pain on her friend, of whom 
she was exceedingly jealous. 

As soon as Maud Lumley found herself alone she wept bit- 
ter tears of anguish. She realized that she had given her love 
unsought. Harry Huntingford had never pretended to love 
the fair young girl whpm he had asked to be his wife. He 
felt that the mere fact of the lawyer's daughter being his 
betrothed wife, was sufficient recompense for a girl in her 
position. He was polite to her in public, but he never showed 
her the slightest affection. Maud yearned for love; her heart 
had been so empty all her life. Her mother had died 
when she was but ten years old, and the child had been educated 
at a boarding-school. Her father paid her bills, came to see 
her occasionally, but he had never manifested any affection for 
her; in fact, he had always deplored her sex. This proud, 
ambitious man would have given half of his fortune if he had 
had a son to succeed him; a son to hand down his name to 
posterity. Not having an heir, he determined to wed his 
daughter to a son of some proud aristocrat whose title would 
add to his own importance and standing in society. 

Maud did not realize that in order to be happy she should 
be loved by her future husband, until she began to love 
the man she had promised to marry, then she felt that unless 
she could be a beloved wife her future life would be miserable. 

Having heard of Mademoiselle Cora, she determined to see 
what manner of woman she was. She doubted the truth of 
Alice Grey’s assertion, and thought it was but a malicious false- 
hood, but she was determined, if possible, to settle the matter 
beyond dispute. She would go to the Alhambra Theater her- 
self and see this actress who had so infatuated the proud 
baronet, who felt that he was honoring Maud’s father by open- 
ly acknowledging Maud as his future wife. The next time that 
Harry Huntingford called on her she asked him to take her to 
see Mademoiselle Cora, and he consented, not daring to do 
otherwise. He did not wish Maud Lumley for a moment to 
suspect that he loved the fascinating actress. 

The evening on which she attends the performance of the 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


129 


“ Maid of Orleans” Maud feels nervpus and ill at ease, but she 
must see this beautiful actress who has charmed the man she 
loves. The house is full when they reach it — a glittering horse- 
shoe of faces, toilets, gas-light, perfume and fluttering fans. 
As soon as Maud enters the box she sinks into her seat and 
diaws back behind the curtain. The play has begun and 
Mademoiselle Cora is on the stage, electrifying the audience 
by her passionate power. 

Maud looks at her and turns sick at heart with despair. 
Yes, she is beautiful, but with a brilliant, insolent beauty it 
seems to her. Her voice is silvery, her dark eyes like stars, 
and she knows that Harry worships brunettes. Maud asks 
herself what power she has to hold him against such a glitter- 
ing enchantress. She turns her eyes from the stage and looks 
at the man sitting beside her. She sees that his blue eyes are 
blazing with passionate excitement. He leans back and sweeps 
the house with his opera-glass. Maud sees that when Made- 
moiselle Cora is off the stage he is uninterested. Between the 
acts he leaves her alone in the box, and when he does not re- 
turn for nearly half an hour she wonders where he is. It does 
not occur to this inexperienced girl that he has gone behind 
the scenes while she is patiently awaiting his return, and that 
he is in the green-room talking to Mademoiselle Cora, who- 
asks him if he is not tired of the ” Maid of Orleans ?” 

“ Not I. She will always interest me,” he replies gallantly. 

“Oh, you stupid! don’t be personal. I mean the play,” 
says the actress, smiling. 

“ No, I like it. It is a piece that will run for months while 
you play the principal part.” 

“Thank you. Sir Harry. I see that you are in a compli- 
mentary mood to-night. Who is the beautiful girl that you 
have with you in the box?” questions the actress. 

“A friend of mine, who was very anxious to see you, and 
she teased me into bringing her to-night.” 

“ Indeed? she is really beautiful. I wish that I was half as 
handsome,” says Cora, regretfully. 

“You are a great deal handsomer, mademoiselle. You pos- 
sess wit, also, whereas my friend is simply beautiful. She does 
not possess one original idea.” 

“What a pity she is not clever; she has one of the most 
beautiful faces I ever saw.” 

9 


130 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


“ Oh, 1 don’t care for fair ladies. They are not my style.” 

“That is because you are a blonde yourself, Sir Harry. We 
admire our opposites, you know,” and Mademoiselle Cora’s 
dark eyes sparkle with mischief, for she suspects that the hand- 
some baronet is one of her victims. 

“You are right,” he answers with a sigh, as he thinks how 
unkind Fate was to him in giving him Maud Lumley, when he 
would have preferred to wed Mademoiselle Cora. 

The bell rings for the curtain to rise on the second act, and 
Mademoiselle Cora says: 

“ I must say adieu. I shall expect you and your friend Ro- 
tunno to supper to-night,” and with a nod and a smile she 
went on the stage. 

As he was about to pass out of the stage door, Harry met 
several acquaintances, and one of them said: 

“You stand well with Cora Huntingford. She did not 
deign to notice us. Lucky beggar! We poor devils stand no 
chance against such a curled darling of the gods.” 

Harry nodded and smiled, and went around to the front 
of the house and entered his box. He had the grace to apolo- 
gize for his long absence. 

The play is ended. Maud is pale; her very lips are colorless. 

“Are you tired, Maud?” asks Harry Huntingford, gently. 

“ No, not very,” she replies. 

“ How did you like Mademoiselle Cora?” 

“Very much. She is beautiful and fascinating. She per- 
forms her part perfectly,” replies Maud, truthfully. 

“ She does, indeed,” returned Harry, as he wraps Maud’s 
cloak around her, and draws her hand within his arm and leads 
her out of the theater. 

During their drive home they hardly exchanged a word. 
Harry conducted her to her own door. In the hall he held 
her hand for a moment, and then said “ Good-night.” 

He jumped into the carriage with a sigh of relief, and was 
driven to Mademoiselle Cora’s. 


CHAPTER XXI. 


SUPPER AT MADEMOISELLE CORALS. 

How will the brilliant match which Lawyer Lumley had 
planned for his daughter end? The would-be bridegroom is 
wearied of his betrothed wife. A more brilliant beauty has 
won him from her. 

Harry Huntingford would have broken his engagement, 
sacrificed his maternal estate if he dared, but he had placed 
himself in the power of too many people. He was growing 
afraid of the future. Should his brother’s existence become 
known to the world, or should Clement escape, Harry realized 
that it would be a good thing to have Maud Lumley’s fortune 
to fall back upon, therefore he ought to marry her for the sake 
of the comfortable dower she would bring him. 

Mademoiselle Cora had a handsomely furnished house on 
St. John’s Wood Road, where she entertained her friends roy- 
ally. 

After the performance at the theater was over, she drove 
home and made a simple toilet of India muslin. Her maid 
declared she looked lovely. She wore a pair of diamond ear- 
rings and a diafhond pin fastened the rich lace of her dress at the 
throat. Her dark hair was simply twisted around her shapely 
head and fastened with a golden arrow. 

Francisco Rotunno arrived before Harry Huntingford, and 
he was engaged in an interesting conversation on music when 
the young Englishman entered Mademoiselle Cora’s drawing- 
room, which was one sheet of golden light. 

The brilliant, gas-lit room looked very inviting. The ceiling 
was frescoed, and handsome mirrors which reflected every 
object, lined the walls of the apartment. 

The dark, crimson velvet furniture and heavy Turkish car- 
pet were of the most elegant design. Everything in the room 
showed the luxurious tastes .of the fair owner. 

181 


132 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


The windows were hung with rose-colored satin and rich 
lace curtains, and the air was heavy with perfume. 

On a low fauteuil reclined the graceful actress, who arose 
and gave Harry Huntingford her hand as she glanced softly 
from under her dark lashes, saying: 

“ I did not expect you so early.” 

‘‘Why not, mademoiselle?” asked Harry Huntingford. 

‘‘ Because you had such a beautiful lady with you this eve- 
ning. I thought it would be hard for you to leave her pres* 
ence.” 

“ You are mistaken. I was only too impatient to bid her 
adieu.” 

“Why, pray?” asked the actress with an amused smile. 

“ Because I longed for more congenial society.” 

“Ah, you flatter me, my friend— you do me too much 
honor,” said Mademoiselle Cora, blushing. 

A footman entered and announced that supper was served. 

“ Sir Harry, give me your arm please. I am sorry, Signor 
Rotunno, that I did not invite a lady friend of mine for your 
special benefit.” 

“ I am glad that you did not, mademoiselle, for you know I 
am a trifle lazy and I would rather be entertained than be 
obliged to be polite to a lady in whom I would not be inter- 
ested.” 

“You are very candid, signor,” laughs ‘Mademoiselle Cora. 

She laughs once more as if the idea amuses her, softly and 
musically, and shows her dazzling white teeth. 

She is a trifle vulgar, this peerless Cora — her most ardent 
admirers admit that. She smokes cigarettes and uses slang at 
times — but she laughs well — it is one of her most telling points 
— congenially, sweetly and very often. 

The ruby-velvet portieres were drawn aside and they entered 
the adjoining dining-room. Here, too, the light was as vivid 
as that of noonday, and beneath the mimic sun of gas, a table 
was spread with glittering crystal and silverware. Tall epergnes 
of frosted silver were filled with the rarest hot-house flowers, 
and their perfume intoxicated the senses. 

Mademoiselle Cora’s chef^^is one of the best to be had in 
London. 

Her wines were well chosen, and her guests thoroughly 
enjoyed the supper prepared for them. 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


133 


This brilliant actress received a handsome salary, but she 
was always more or less in debt, as she lived far beyond her 
income — a fact well known to her admirers, who would have 
gladly assisted her; but as they dared not offer her the use of 
their bank books, they gave her diamonds, which were quite 
frequently pledged to some money-lender when her creditors 
were unusually clamorous. 

There was a brief pause in the hum of gay conversation as 
they seated themselves, but after a while the talk commenced 
again of Paris and the theaters there. 

“Ah!” exclaimed Rotunno, “I wish I was living there 
again. It is the only city in Europe fit to live in.” 

“ I should not care to live there,” said Mademoiselle Cora. 

“Why not, pray?” asked the Italian, in a surprised tone of 
voice. 

“ Because I like to visit the gay city, but I prefer London 
to live in. It is more home-like; it suits me better.” 

“You are an Englishwoman. That is why you prefer Lon- 
don,” said Rotunno. 

“ Perhaps so. I am fond of the great, smoky city.” 

“Because you are such a favorite with us,” said Harry Hun- 
tingford. 

“ Perhaps that is why I like London so much. We always 
like a place that we do well in,” replied the actress. 

“We certainly do. That is why I prefer Paris, I made 
money there, and I shall return there as soon as my sister be- 
comes Lady Landsmere.” 

Harry Huntingford’s face flushed hotly and he frowned. 

“ I did not know that you sister was about to become Sir 
Harry’s aunt. I thought Lord Landsmere was too old to fall 
a victim to Cupid’s darts,” laughed Cora. 

“ He’s only seventy, and a very fine looking old gentleman. 
It will be an excellent match for my sister,” replied Rotunno, 
as a satisfied smile lingered around his lips. 

“How will you like the match?” asked Mademoiselle Cora, 
turning to Harry Huntingford. 

“They are not wedded yet, mademoiselle, and I do not 
believe that my uncle will ever marry again,” he said emphat- 
ically, as they arose from the table. 

A dark scowl passed over the Italian’s face, and he took out 


134 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


his pocketbook, opened it, and showed Harry Huntingford a 
slip of paper. 

“ Prevent Beatrice from becoming Lady Landsmere at your 
peril!” he hissed as they passed into the drawing-room. 

Mademoiselle Cora did not appear to observe this scene, as 
it occurred behind her back, but she felt that her two guests 
were not very much pleased with each other. 

She sat down to the piano and sang a song to restore har- 
mony, then she told them to go and have a game of cards. 

Rotunno was always ready to play with any one who had 
money to lose, therefore he availed himself of her permission. 

They had just become interested in their game when Mad- 
emoiselle Cora’s footman appeared. 

She went to him. 

He gave her a pocketbook and a slip of paper which he had 
just picked up. 

Cora put the piece of paper in her belt and came toward 
the card-table, asking: 

“Which of you gentlemen has dropped a pocketbook?” 

Rotunno felt in his pocket and answered: 

“It is mine, mademoiselle.” 

“ You are exceedingly lucky, signor, to have dropped it 
here, in place of the street, ” said the actress, with a wise shake 
of her shapely head, as she handed Rotunno his pocket- 
book. 

“ Thank you, mademoiselle. It contains valuable papers 
which I would not lose for any amount.” 

The Italian went on with his game and the actress care- 
lessly opened the slip of paper which she had a moment be- 
fore placed in her belt. 

She read it twice; then the meaning of what she had just 
perused suddenly flashed through her mind. 

Walking to the card-table, she asked her guests why they 
did not smoke. 

“ Will you permit us, mademoiselle? ” asked the Italian. 

“ Certainly, I will join you in a cigarette. You see how 
obliging I am, ” she said, as she tore the slip in two and made 
a couple of paper-lights, which she lit, and handed one to each 
of her guests. 

Rotunno offered his cigar-case to Harry Huntingford, who 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


135 


took a cigar and lit it. He burned out the paper-lighter which 
Madenioiselle Cora had given him. The actress watched her 
guests intently while they lit their cigars, with a curious ex- 
pression flittng over her face. 

Rotunno had lit his cigar and thrown the paper into a little 
iron ash-tray that lay near him, when his eye suddenly caught 
a familiar word which was written on the slip, and he hastily 
snatched the bit of paper and threw it on the floor, trying to 
stamp the fire out of it. 

There was but a mere fragment left — just enough to show 
what had been written on it. 

“ Where did you get this piece of paper?” he cried in a 
hoarse tone of voice, his face purple with rage. 

“ Oh, it was picked up in the dining-room by John. Why 
do you ask?” said Mademoiselle Cora, calmly. 

” Because you have ruined me, woman — ruined me ! ” said 
the Italian wildly. 

” It was not a bank-note, my friend, that you should make 
such a fuss about it, ” was the sarcastic retort of the actress. 

” But it represented bank-notes, mademoiselle. I wish to 
Heaven I had never set foot in your accursed house,” cried 
Rotunno, as he suddenly made his exit from the drawing-room. 

Seizing his overcoat and hat, he rushed from St. John’s 
Wood Road to his own residence, to inform his sister of the 
disaster that had overtaken him. 

“Has Rotunno taken leave of his senses?” asked Harry 
Huntingford, who had been so astonished at the Italian’s 
strange conduct that he could hardly speak. 

“ Do you know what that piece of paper was that I tore up 
and handed to yourself and Rotunno to light your cigars with?” 
questioned the actress. 

“ I do not,” replied the young Englishman. 

“ Did your friend Rotunno ever have you in his power?” 
asked Cora. 

“ I will answer you candidly. He had. He was my master. 
I have been his slave for nearly two years. I committed an 
act of folly when I was a mere lad, and I had to pay the 
penalty.” 

He told her the facts of the forged check. 

“Then rejoice,” cried Mademoiselle Cora, gayly. “Your 
hour of freedom has arrived.” 


136 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


“What do you mean?” inquired Harry, looking at the 
actress intently. 

“That the piece of paper which I tore in half and made two 
cigar lighters of, and which you saw burnt, was the check you 
speak of.” 

“The forged check which Rotunno held over my head?” 
he cried. 

“The same. I read it over carefully before I tore it. I 
heard him threaten you as we left the supper-table to-night, 
though he thought that I did not. I saw him drop his pocket- 
book, which he must have carelessly let slip as he put it in his 
pocket. I did not dare to attract his attention by stopping to 
pick it up, so I passed on. My hope was to return to the din- 
ing-room before he missed it, but John found it, and as luck 
would have it, the check had slipped out. I retained it, gave 
him the pocket-book, and awaited an opportunity to destroy 
the check.” 

“ May Heaven bless you, Cora,” said Harry Huntingford, 
with emotion, as he bent over the beautiful woman, and taking 
her hand, kissed it respectfully, murmuring, “You have saved 
my honor ” 


CHAPTER XXII. 


THE lawyer’s victim. 

The notes which Isidore Jacobs had paid Pat Malone with 
and which he in turn had given to Sir Clement Huntingford, 
in Cape Colony, were clever forgeries on the Bank of England. 
Isidore Jacobs had received several thousand of these forged 
notes from his brother Solomon, and he had succeeded in dis- 
posing of them without being suspected of passing counterfeit 
money. 

When Solomon returned to London after his trip to Paris, 
he was so elated by his former success that he forged a check 
of five thousand pounds on Baring Brothers. He was detected, 
arrested and lodged in Newgate to await his trial. 

About this time Gypsy George had demanded more hush- 
money from Lawyer Lumley than that gentleman thought 
it advisable to pay, as he had already given the gypsy an 
extra hundred pounds. The lawyer felt that his respectability, 
which was a marketable commodity, and which he was natur- 
ally anxious to retain, was in danger. He rebelled against be- 
ing in the gypsy’s power, and was determined to find some 
means of getting rid of him, especially as his own safety was 
in danger. He was not altogether without hope, desperate as 
his case appeared to be at first sight. He had weathered 
rougher storms than this, and at the end of a long cogitation 
he prepared once more for action. 

Jack Lawrence was summoned to his presence as usual 
when any dirty work was to be done. “ Jack,” said the lawyer, 
“has Mr. Jones been here with his papers?” 

“He is in the outer office at present, sir.” 

“In what condition is he?” 

“ Drunk as usual, sir.” 

“Is he?” replied the lawyer, with a scarcely perceptible 
smile of satisfaction. 

“ Show him in.” 


137 


138 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


Lawyer Lumley was solicitor to the association of mer- 
chants and bankers for the prosecution of forgers and thieves; 
as such it was his duty to prepare the indictments against the 
unfortunate wretches whom hunger or vice had led to violate 
the first law of civilization — the law of property. 

Mr. Jones, the person whom he had just inquired after, was 
the party who brought him the proofs, examinations, etc., from 
the magistrate’s office after the committal of the prisoners in 
order to prepare the evidence against them and get up briefs 
for counsel. 

Moses Jacobs, the father of Solomon and Isidore Jacobs, 
in whose heart one touch of true nature was left, love for his 
son, had vainly offered an immense sum to compromise the 
matter, but the proofs were so clear of the criminal’s guilt, that 
little hope remained of saving him. The fatal check was 
among the papers which Mr. Jones was supposed to have 
brought to Lawyer Lumley. 

“ So you have brought the papers,” said the attorney, as 
Mr. Jones entered, followed by the clerk. 

“ They’re all right,” hiccoughed Jones, tossing the package 
upon the table. 

“ Sit down, Mr. Jones, while I examine them. Jack,” added 
the lawyer, “ write the list as I call them over.” 

The speaker took his seat, the clerk next to him, and Jones 
directly opposite. The chair of the latter personage was 
placed fronting the window, through the dirty panes of which 
the rays of the sun were pouring in, and prevented him from 
seeing very distinctly. 

“ Copy of Committal,” called off the lawyer, taking the 
papers from the envelope one by one. 

“ All right, sir,” replied the clerk, making a memorandum. 

‘‘ Evidence of Discount, the banker.” 

“ It is down, sir.” 

“ Ditto of Mr. Morgan, the cashier.’ 

“ Got it, sir.” 

“ Brown, the officer’s.” 

“ Marked.” 

“ But where is the check?” exclaimed the lawyer, in a tone 
of surprise and disappointment. “ I don’t see the check.” 

“You will find it in the parcel, sir,” said Jones. “ It must 
be there, for I put it there myself.” 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


139 


“ It ought to be there,” replied the lawyer, gravely; “ for 
without it, all the rest is useless.” 

“ It is there,” exclaimed the messenger, beginning to feel 
alarmed, and hastily rising to examine the papers. 

“ Perhaps you will be so good as to point it out?” said the 
man of law, “ for really I cannot find it. Did you see any 
other paper. Jack?” 

“ Certainly not, sir,” answered the confidential clerk, who 
knew all the while that his master had contrived to secrete it 
up his sleeve. 

“ Great Heaven!” exclaimed Jones, completely sobered by 
the loss. “ I thought I could have sworn I placqd it there with 
the others. Surely you are jesting with me, Mr. Lumley.” 

“ I never jest,” observed the lawyer, dryly. “ Do I, Jack?” 

“ Never, sir,” echoed his subordinate, with a grin. 

Again did the terrified messenger pass and repass the 
papers, carefully unfolding each, in the hope that it had 
slipped by accident within another. Satisfied of the inutility 
of his search, he let them fall despairingly, muttering as he 
did so: 

“ It is not there.” 

“ Of course it is not; perhaps you dropped it in the office?” 

Mr. Jones shook his head despondingly. 

“ Did you stop anywhere?” demanded Lumley, in a sooth- 
ing tone of voice. 

“At the Queen’s Inn, but only for about half an hour.” 

“ Perhaps you fell asleep there?” observed the questioner, 
who was perfectly well aware of Mr. Jones’ peculiar weakness 
and habits. 

The unfortunate man hung down his head and confessed 
that he had indulged in a nap, but only for a few minutes. It 
was after he had had a pint of “half-and-half” with Mr. 
Nathan, the sheriff’s officer. 

“ Nathan is a Jew, I think,” observed Lumley who was well 
acquainted with that respectable individual, and chuckled 
secretly at the fortunate coincidence. 

“You know he is,” replied Mr. Jones, despairingly, ^ 

“ An ugly piece of business — really, a very ugly piece of 
business,” said the satisfied lawyer. “All I have to do in it, 
of course, is to write to the magistaate, otherwise I should be 
responsible.” 


140 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


“ It will ruin me. I shall lose my place.” 

“ I sincerely trust that you will lose nothing more, my dear 
Jones; but persons who do not know your sterling honesty, as 
well as I do may be inclined to suspect. Mind, I don’t insin- 
uate that you have been tampered with — though it does look a 
little suspicious.” 

Lawyer Lumley was really an obliging person in his own 
peculiar way. He suffered himself to be persuaded by the 
earnest entreaties of the terrified messenger to wait for three 
hours before he fulfilled his threat of writing to the magistrate, 
and the now sobered victim of h‘is clever sleight-of hand ran 
back to the Queen’s Inn in the hope of meeting his old friend, 
Mr. Nathan. 

“ Serious affair,” remarked Jack Lawrence, as the office door 
closed on the unfortunate Mr. Jones. The clerk felt that he 
was entitled to an extra fee for assisting in the transaction 

“ If Mr. Jones should happen not to find the check, what 
will become of him?” asked the clerk. 

“ He will be arrested and tried, and without doubt will get 
a severe sentence,” replied the lawyer coolly. 

“What if he should assert that the check was in the 
package?” observed the clerk. 

“You can swear that it was not.” 

But Jack Lawrence for once was silent. His master missed 
his ready “Yes, sir,” and raised his eyes to look at him. 

The expression of his clerk’s countenance did not alto- 
gether please Mr. Lumley. 

“ Perhaps he may swear that you took it, sir?” observed the 
clerk, willing to say something. 

“Bahl” sneered the lawyer. “My respectability is un- 
doubted. I would laugh at him,” 

“ Of course you could, sir — in — your — sleeve!” 

This was a home-thrust; there was no parrying it. Lum- 
ley saw at once that his appropriation of the document had 
been detected by the sharp eyes of his clerk. He did not at 
first pretend to understand Jack Lawrence, but the clerk was 
his match. He had not served him for years without learning 
how to deal with him. 

“ Don’t you think that it is rather hard on poor old Jones to 
make him suffer because you have some little game to play?” 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


I4I 

“What do you mean? Speak out,” replied Lumley impa- 
tiently. 

“That I saw you secrete the check. I don’t mind Jones 
losing his place, but, by Jove! I don’t like to have a hand in 
sending him to Newgate. He is an honest fellow, even if he 
does take a drop now and then.” 

“ Pshaw! what difference does it make to you if he suffers, 
as long as you are the gainer thereby,” said the lawyer. 

The clerk did not answer his question, but continued: “You 
and I have done some queer things in our time, and I have 
always served you faithfully, but we never yet sent a man to jail 
for nothing. No, master, I am a bad lot, but I cannot see 
Jones suffer.” 

“ What do you mean to/do?” 

‘Tell the truth for once in my life,” replied Jack. 

‘You will ruin me if you do,” said the lawyer. 

“I don’t want to do that, master, but can’t we find some 
way to save Jones and retain the check?” 

“ We must try to, for the check I must have. Here, take 
this fifty pounds and send Jones to Liverpool. Buy him a ticket 
for the next steamer that sails for New York. For years he 
has been wishing to join his brother on the other side. I shall 
not report the loss of the check until to-morrow, after the 
steamer has sailed. Tell Jones to lose no time, and to sail un- 
der an assumed name. Take him to a barber and get him a 
clean shave, so that he will stand a chance of not being recog- 
nized until the affair blows over,” said Lumley, rapidly. 

Jack Lawrence looked at his employer in astonishment, and 
exclaimed: 

“That check must be valuable, or you would not be so will- 
ing to pay for it.” 

“ You are right. Jack, it is. Here is another fifty pounds for 
your trouble.” 

“ Thank you, sir,” said the clerk, as his face brightened. 

Fifty pounds was a larger amount than he had ever pos- 
sessed at one time. It was a step to independence. His doubts 
vanished in an instant; he would have sworn to anything just at 
that moment, he felt so grateful to his ma.ster for his liberal 
gift. Jack Lawrence was a rogue, but a good-hearted one. He 
did not like to see an innocent man go to Newgate, and he was 


142 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


very well pleased to be able to send poor Jones to America in* 
stead of prison. 

“Jack,” said the lawyer, as he was passing out of the office, 
“ I don’t think you heard my question.” 

“ What was it, sir.” 

“ That you could swear there was no check in the package 
Jones brought to my office.” 

“ Of course I can, sir. How stupid I must have been not 
to have heard you; but I am a little deaf at times,” 

“A little — but away with you. You have no time to lose. 
Get Jones out of the way, if you don’t want to see him in New- 
gate.” 

“ I will, sir. Never fear, he’ll jump at the chance. He is 
tired of his mode of life and anxious for a change.” 

Jack hastily left the office and speedily sought out the un- 
fortunate Jones, who was almost distracted over his misfortune. 

When Jack Lawrence told him that he had a chance to leave 
the country, providing he left at once, Jones looked the clerk 
full in the face, and it suddenly flashed through his mind that 
he was a victim. 

“ I did not lose the check. Ah, I see it all. Lumley stole 
the check, and that is why he forces me to leave,” he said 
bitterly 

“ Will you go?” asked Jack. 

“ Yes, willingly ; but I hate to have to go in such a manner. 
People will call me a dishonest man,” replied Jones, sadly. 

“Never mind what people say, my friend. Take my advice 
— go! If you remain here, Lumley will make you a victim in 
reality.” 

“ You are right. Jack, I will go. I prefer liberty to a 
prison, especially when I know I am innocent. After to-day I 
am a temperance man. If I had not forgotten my duty and 
entered the Queen’s Inn, I would have been sober, and then 
that wily lawyer could not have stolen the check,” said Jones, 
who felt that he was powerless to prove his innocence, for the 
circumstantial evidence in the case was against him. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


THE lawyer’s fee. 

After Jack Lawrence had departed, Mr. Lumley hastily put 
on his overcoat, sallied forth from his legal den, and directed 
his steps toward Fetter Lane, in which locality were several 
receiving houses — places kept open all night — with crucibles 
ready and a' glowing fire to melt plate, watch-cases, or any 
other species of valuable plunder that the proprietors might 
purchase of the thieves. 

The most noted receiver of stolen goods was Moses Jacobs. 
His shop was situated at the bottom of a long, dark, narrow pass- 
age, like the nest of a field spider. It communicated at the back 
and sides with several adjacent streets ; so if a visitor were 
watched at the principal entrance, it would be difficult to spec- 
ulate in what street he would make his appearance. 

Long as the house had been under the surveillance of the 
police, and as often as it had been inspected by them, they 
had never yet succeeded in obtaining possession of any of the 
stolen property which was bright there nightly, in a recogniz- 
able form. It was conveyed through an aperture in the wall 
to a strongly barred chamber, where it quickly lost all identity 
in the melting-pot. 

Moses Jacobs, like all tradesmen, had his particular custom- 
ers, and took a peculiar method in keeping them. 

The moment a criminal entered into commercial trans- 
actions with him, he retained at least one proof that would con- 
vict the guilty man. It seldom occurred, therefore, that an 
account opened under such circumstances was closed unless 
by the sheriff or hangman. 

Lumley was perfectly aware of this prudent arrangement on 
the part of the dealer, whose son, as has been observed, was 
awaiting his trial for forgery in Newgate. 

“Father Moses! what brings jyou here?” exclaimed the 

148 


144 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


astonished Jacobs, as the lawyer entered his dismal den, which 
was generally deserted during the day. “What brings you 
here — anything in my way?” 

“ Hem; why, not exactly in your way, although it concerns 
you deeply.” 

“Very well, my friend. What is it?” 

“ You have a son?” 

“ Of course; I have two of them.” 

“ I mean your son Solomon, who is in Newgate,” said the 
lawyer. 

“Yes, yes,” replied the old man, turning deadly pale; “a 
fool, who, instead of sticking to his regular business, wanted 
to get rich in a hurry. Ah, Solomon would be a gentleman — 
a pretty place his fine notions have brought him to,” grumbled 
Moses Jacobs. 

“ Newgate is not the most comfortable quarters for a man 
of refined habits,” remarked the lawyer. 

“ Not much. I thought Solomon had a better head for 
business. He is clever, but he is too daring ” 

“ I should think so,” remarked the lawyer, quietly. 

Moses Jacobs was silent a moment, then he peeped curious- 
ly in the lawyer’s face. 

“ And what do you know about my son Solomon?” 

“Nothing; but the case is strong against him.” 

“ I know it!” exclaimed the Hebrew in despair. “Fool — took 
the check himself! Pretty way of doing things! He ought to 
have known better, seeing how I brought him up.” 

“ Doubtless,” observed Lumley. 

“What do you want with me?” demanded Jacobs. 

“You are aware that I am a solicitor for the prosecution?” 

“Well?” 

“ That all the papers are in my possession.” 

“Well?” 

“ And seeing that there was no chance of escape,” con- 
tinued the visitor — “ that he must be convicted — and knowing 
you to be a respectable man from having successfully defended 
you three times at the Old Bailey — I thought as I was passing 
I would come in and condole with you. That’s all.” 

“ Thank you,” said Jacobs, “ thank you. Will you walk in? 
I have some excellent brandy. We can talk better in my little 
parlor.” 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


M5 


They understood each other quite well, but were afraid to 
show that they did so. When both had been seated some 
time in Mr Jacobs’ cozy back parlor, with the liquor before 
them; the spell of silence was over them. Each was men- 
tally calculating, his own game. 

Lumley was the first to speak. 

“Yours must be a peculiar business, Mr. Jacobs?” he ob- 
served. 

“Yes, very peculiar,” replied his host. 

“ I am told that you keep rather curious memorials of all 
the men with whom you transact business.” 

“ Well, I always keep something in my cabinet to make my 
customers behave themselves; if I did not, they would never 
come to me when they could get better prices elsewhere,” said 
the dealer, significantly. 

“ Are you acquainted with a man commonly called by his 
pals Gipsy George?” 

“The prince of cracksmen, the knowing cove who has 
more dodges than aliases to his name? I should think so!” 
said Jacobs, warming with enthusiasm. 

“ Have you any memorials of him?” questioned the lawyer. 

“ No!” 

“ Good-morning, Mr. Jacobs. I am sorry for Solomon. It 
will go hard with him,” and the lawyer arose and was walking 
slowly out of the room, when Jacobs suddenly laid his hand 
on his arm and demanded: 

“ What sort of a memorial do you expect?” 

“ One of your usual ones,” insinuated the lawyer, blandly. 

“ Do you wish to hang him?” 

“ No, only to muzzle him.” 

“What will you give me for it?” demanded the dealer with 
a sigh, the cold perspiration pouring from his forehead, for he 
felt the danger of provoking the desperate ruffian. 

“ A check to any amount,” replied Lumley. 

“Would three thousand pounds be too much?” asked 
Jacobs. 

This was the sum his son had forged. 

“ Not at all, not at all. I think it only reasonable.” 

“And drawn on Baring’s?” 

This was the banker that Solomon had forged upon. 

10 


146 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


“ Assuredly.” 

“ Then,” said Jacobs, “ you shall have it. Ah! George little 
thinks that I have it. You can hang him,” he whispered. 
“You had better hang him — he will be out of the way, and 
then I shall sleep quietly. He would cut my throat if he 
found it out. Do hang him, Mr. Lumley.” 

“ Most likely I shall,” observed the lawyer, “but not just 
yet.” 

“ Holy Father Abraham, I am afraid of him! He will mur- 
der me; he is such a desperate villain; besides, he is a gypsy, 
and they never forgive an injury. I want to save Solomon, but 
I don’t care to stand the chance of being murdered in my bed.” 

“ Nonsense, my friend. We’ll be able to muzzle Gipsy 
George. Rely upon it. He dare not injure you. I will see 
that you are protected.” 

“ That alters the case, Mr. Lumley, if you are responsible 
for my safety.” 

“ Most assuredly,” replied the lawyer in a soothing manner. 

“Then you can come up-stairs with me,” said the Hebrew, 
leading the way up a narrow flight of steps. He took his visit- 
or into a small room, dimly lighted by a small oval window. 

This room was lined with narrow shelves that were divided 
off into spaces of about a foot each. 

These shelves were lettered alphabetically, and were filled 
with a miscellaneous assortment of articles. There were pis- 
tols, knives, pocketbooks, watches, trinkets, bits of clothing, 
handkerchiefs, letters, newspapers, etc. 

“ This is my museum, Mr. Lumley,” remarked Jacobs, with 
a smile. 

“ A very remarkable collection, my friend,” replied the 
lawyer. “You have a number of missing links here. Ah, I 
shall always send to you if I am at a loss to prove a charge.” 

“Yes; I could have sent many of my customers to the 
gallows. I have relics here of most of the cut-throats and 
burglars in London. I could not carry on my business 
if I did not have them in my power,” said the dealer, as he 
looked for the letter. 

“ I don’t suppose you often betray your customers?” ob- 
served the attorney. 

“ No, Mr. Lumley, I do not. I never go back on a good 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. I47 

one. I would not put Gipsy George in your power now, but I 
am a miserable father. I want to save Solomon.” 

” I understand your position, my friend. Your paternal 
feelings do you honor,” answered Lumley. 

” Oh, here is the memorial of our friend, Gipsy George,” 
said Jacobs, as he took down from a shelf an old newspaper. 

Me opened it and handed it to the lawyer, showing him a 
marked column. 

Lumley read the column very attentively. It gave an 
account of a murder committed in Essex on the first of May, 
some fifteen years past, and offered a reward of fifty pounds 
for the apprehension of the murderer, who had, among other 
articles taken from the body of his victim, a peculiarly shaped 
watch, a repeater set in a silver and tortoise shell case. 
Maker’s name, Le Pine, Colchester, No. 93,517. 

“ Lumley looked at the date of the paper. Folding it up 
carefully, he nodded to the dealer as much as to say, “ That 
will do.” 

Moses next, with a trembling hand, took out of a small box 
a watch exactly similar to the one described, and held it up to 
the light. 

“ Is it a repeater?” demanded the lawyer. 

Jacobs touched the spring, and it struck the half hour. 

“ Can I see the number ?” 

The dealer carefully took the watch from its case, opened 
the works and showed the fatal figures of 93,517. A smile 
quivered on the thin lips of the lawyer — he was satisfied. 

“ And you bought this of Gipsy George ?” 

I did.” 

“When ?” 

“ On the second of May, fifteen years ago.” 

“Sign me a memorandum to that effect,” said Lumley. 

“I hate to do it, Mr. Lumley. I feel as if I were sign- 
ing my own death-warrant. George will never forgive me. 
I wish to Heaven you would hang him. I will pay half of the 
expense if you will only do it.” 

He hesitated in sheer terror as he took up the pen to sign 
his name, for Gipsy George was known to be both resolute 
and revengeful. Moses Jacobs would have had the gipsy’s 
throat cut without the least remorse, but he trembled at excit- 


FOR LOVE OE GOLD. 


148 

ing the villain’s resentment. In this extremity he proffered 
gold, that dross which through life had been the idol of his 
avaricious heart — but all in vain. 

Lumley did not want his money. Paternal love at last pre- 
vailed — the memorandum was signed and the watch delivered. 

The check, according to promise, was instantly given up 
and destroyed. 

“ George will never forgive me. Mr. Lumley, please hang 
him.” 

The lawyer smiled, but the other’s terror was not ill-founded, 

He had escaped the consequences of a thousand crimes, 
but he was destined to perish by the only virtuous feeling 
he had ever known — paternal love. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


IN HIS POWER 

Sally George paid another visit to the Crown and Bear in 
the Almonry. 

The same pot-boy that had served her when she visited the 
inn two years before, waited on her. 

As it was early in the day, not many guests were present; 
so, when the boy had brought the pint of half-and-half she had 
ordered, Sally George remarked: 

“ I see you are still here?” 

“Yes, missus; I have been here some three years,” replied 
the boy. 

“Then you must remember the beautiful lady that was 
murdered in this neighborhood some two or three years ago?” 
asked the woman, looking at the boy intently. 

“ I does, missus. I don’t think I’ve ever got over the 
fright I got the morning her body was discovered,” replied the 
boy with a shudder. 

“Yes; I remember you gave your testimony at the inquest. 
You were the first to find her.” 

“Yes; my missus sent me over with some hot coffee and 
rolls, for she was mighty good to the poor woman. We all 
thought she was near starving. Did you know her?” 

“ Only by sight. I had a friend that lived in the neighbor- 
hood about that time, and she took me over to the inquest. 
Did you ever find out who she was?” asked the woman, 
anxiously. 

“ Yes, missus. Her father, a real respectable old man, came 
here two days after she was buried.” 

“ Indeed!” exclaimed Sally George, looking interested. 

“Yes, missus; he was a nice old gentleman. I never pitied 
any one so much in all my life. He was uncommon cut up 


149 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


150 

about his daughter. He stopped here a day, and had her body 
taken up,’* said the boy. 

“Do you know where the lady was buried afterward?” 
eagerly asked the woman. 

“ That I does. They took her down to Sutton. The old 
gentleman gave me an invitation to visit him if I ever came 
his way, for he said that my missus and I were the only per- 
sons who had been kind to his daughter.” 

“ Ah, I wonder if you would mind to tell me where he lives? 
I would like to know, for my man says he thinks he knows 
the cove that stole the lady’s baby.” 

“Does he?” questioned the pot-boy, his eyes opening in 
astonishment. 

“ So he says,” replied Sally, with a knowing wink. 

“ Then send him down to Sutton, for the old gentleman will 
reward any one who will bring him his grandchild, for he is 
anxious to find the baby. I’ll go up-stairs and get the card 
with his address on.” 

And the boy hastily disappeared. 

He returned in a few minutes with a card, which he handed 
to Sally George. 

The following address was written on it: 

“ Peter Richards, 

Richards’ Farm, 

Near Sutton, Surrey.” 

“You can keep the card, missus. I will remember the 
address if ever I want to hunt up Mr. Richards.” 

“ Thank you, my lad,” answered Sally, as she slipped a 
half-crown into the boy’s hand. 

“Thank you, missus. I only hope that the poor baby will 
be found, for it is such a pretty little thing that we all felt sorry 
that it was stolen. I will go down to Sutton to see the little one, 
if Mr. Richards finds her. Let me know, please.” 

“That I will,” replied the woman, as she nodded to the pot- 
boy and passed out of the door of the Crown and Bear. 

* * * * * # 

A few days after Sally George’s visit to the inn her husband 
waited on Lawyer Lumley in the Temple. 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


I5I 

Gipsy George entered the outer office with his usual air of 
saucy indifference, beneath which, however, he contrived to 
keep an observant eye on all that he saw. 

Two men muffled in overcoats were seated near the fire 
talking to Jack LaWrence when he entered. 

Gipsy George thought they were a couple of the clerk's 
friends, summoned hither to protect the lawyer from violence. 

“ Does this old fool imagine I am going to kill the goose 
which lays the golden eggs?” he murmured. “Not quite so 
greeen as that.” 

Yet, with all his knowledge of the world, he was greener 
than he was aware of, for these two men were no other than 
Bow Street officers, whose services had been conditionally 
required. 

When the gipsy was shown into Lumley’s private office, he 
coolly seated himself on the table opposite to where the 
lawyer was writing. Looking at his host with a sarcastic grin, 
Gipsy George asked: 

“ Well, old 'un, have you made up your mind?” 

“ Perfectly,” said the lawyer. 

“ Let’s hear it.” 

“ To give you another hundred pounds for those papers, if 
you choose to deliver them up.” 

“ Hundred!” repeated Gipsy George in a tone of contempt. 
*'• Why, they are worth a thousand.” 

“ Not a penny more.” 

“ I am off, then. Perhaps Peter Richards will be more rea- 
sonable. He will give me a thousand pounds to recover his 
grandchild.” 

“ You don’t know where to find the child’s grandfather,” 
remarked the lawyer. 

“ You are mistaken, my friend. He lives near Sutton, Sur- 
rey. See, here is his address,” and Gipsy George held up the 
card which his wife had obtained from the pot-boy at the 
Crown and Bear. 

The lawyer was surprised, because he did not imagine that 
the gypsy knew where Peter Richards was to be found, but he 
did not show his astonishment. Lumley had tact enough to 
hide how annoyed he really felt, so he calmly observed: 

“ You had better go, or you will miss your train.” 


152 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD, 


“ Oh, there are several trains to Sutton this evening,” care- 
lessly answered Gipsy George. 

“You have lost the half-past six o’clock train, which you 
might have caught,” remarked the lawyer, as he took out of 
his pocket the watch which he had obtained from Jacobs. The 
repeater struck the hour, which was half-past six. 

There was nothing very extraordinary in the action of the 
lawyer; perhaps it was the tone in which he spoke; but it 
attracted the attention of his visitor, who had risen, and was in 
the act of making his exit. The ruffian suddenly turned 
around, and his eyes fell on the watch. 

In an instant his impudence left him, and he turned deadly 
pale. The murderer recognized the time-piece. 

“Why don’t you go?” asked Lumley, with a cool smile. 
“ Are you afraid that the men in the outer office will ask any 
unpleasant questions?” 

Gipsy George retraced his steps and seated himself in the 
nearest chair. 

“ Don’t let me detain you,” continued the man of law, still 
holding the watch in his hand. 

“ Trapped, by thunder!” muttered the gipsy, feeling that 
he was in the lawyer’s power. 

“ Do you admire my watch, that you eye it so closely? It 
is rather a remarkable one,” observed the lawyer. 

“Yes. Will you sell it ?” eagerly asked the gipsy. 

“No, George, no. It is a very valuable one for me. I 
have had it a long time. I might have had fifty pounds for it 
over and over again any time these fifteen years.” 

“ Perhaps,” said the ruffian, with the cold perspiration pour- 
ing off of him as he spoke, “ you would exchange it for the 
papers you name ?” 

“Not at all likely,” answered Lumley; “but if you behave 
well, I will keep it carefully for you, and leave it to you 
as a legacy when I die. You had better take the hundred 
guineas.” 

Gipsy George thought so, too. 

“You can keep the child. I will allow you fifty pounds 
a year for her maintenance.” 

“ You must have some powerful motive to have this child 
taken care of and kept out of the way,” said the ruffian. 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 1 53 

Gipsy George did not know that the Igiwyer’s daughter was 
the promised wife of the child’s father. 

“Do you think I am without any natural feelings?” de- 
manded the lawyer. 

“Natural feelings?” repeated the gipsy, at the same time 
thrusting his tongue impudently into his cheek. “ All feelings 
are natural. The viper when it bit the old fool who brought it 
home to warm; the fox when it grabs the goose, or the hawk, 
the merry thrush, as I have often watched them do in the 
woods, are all quite natural. The poor man when he robs the 
rich, and the rich man when he 'grinds the poor are natural 
My opinion is that they are all natural alike.” 

Lumley smiled. He was himself inclined to philosophical 
speculations, and the gipsy’s observations had given him food 
for reflection. 

“You agree to my proposition?” observed he. 

“Well, I suppose I must,” answered the gypsy. “You ob- 
ject to my giving the child to its grandfather?” 

“I desire that you keep the child; it could not be in bet- 
ter hands.” 

“ Oh, yes, it could, but it might be in worse, too. My 
missus is fond of the young one. She’s an uncommonly know- 
ing piece; she can’t be three years old yet, but she can crib a 
handkerchief with the best of them already.” 

“What!” exclaimed Lumley. “Are you bringing up the 
child to be a pickpocket?” 

“What should I bring her up to?” demanded the gipsy 
moodily. “ The world has taught me nothing else.” 

“Very true,” answered the lawyer, as he locked up the pa- 
pers, which Gipsy George had surrendered, securely in his desk. 
“You must not come here again unless I send for you, my 
friend.” 

“As you please, sir,” replied the gipsy. 

It was astonishing how tractable the fellow had suddenly 
become. He was about leaving the office when he suddenly 
asked: 

“ Did Moses Jacobs sell you that watch?’ 

“ He did,” coolly answered the lawyer. 

“ He shall suffer for it,” muttered the gipsy between his 
teeth. 


154 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


“ You must not have any hard feelings against Jacobs, for 
he was obliged to sell me the watch. I made him do so. He 
was in my power.” 

” Whew!” whistled the gipsy. “So you had the old fox; 
upon my word, Mr. Lumley, I admire you. What a pity that I 
hadn’t a pal like you!” said the ruffian regretfully. 

The lawyer smiled at the rough compliment and arose, say- 
ing: 

“ Good-night, George. I will go with you through the outer 
office. It will be best for you.” 

This was the signal agreed upon between the officers and 
Lumley. If Gipsy George passed through alone they were to 
arrest him; if accompanied by Lumley they were to remain 
quiescent. 

“ I have no occasion for your services, gentlemen,” said 
Lumley, when he returned after seeing his visitor to the bot- 
tom of the stairs, “but there is a sovereign for each of you on 
account of the trouble I have given you. The mistake has 
been satisfactorily explained.” 

Thus ended the first of the many games between the gipsy 
and Mr. Lumley. They were something like games of chess — 
much calculation but little chance. One of them was doomed 
to be checkmated at last — which one, time will show. 


CHAPTER XXV. 


MARY Blythe’s fears. 

Mary Blythe had been welcomed by her mother as one 
arisen from the dead. The mother-heart of Mrs. Blythe was 
deeply grateful to the Merciful Providence that had watched 
over her only child and preserved her from the terrible fate 
which had overtaken the rest of the passengers of the ill-fated 
Lily of the Valley. 

She was also impatient to welcome Charles Hartley to her 
home and thank him for having rescued her daughter at the 
peril of his own life. 

Mary had not informed her mother that she was Charles 
Hartley’s promised wife. Her thoughts were: “When my 
mother becomes acquainted with Charles, it will then be time 
enough to tell her. ’’ 

The first day of her arrival was chiefly spent in conversing 
about her departed friend, Mrs. Robinson, and her life in Cape 
Colony. She also related her terrible experience of the explo- 
sion. Both mother and daughter shed tears over the fate of 
poor little Edith and Major Robinson. 

“ Now, dear mother,’’ said Mary after they had finished 
speaking about the Robinson family, “ pray inform me how 
you have been spending the time during my absence?” 

“ I was very lonely without you, my darling,” said the fond 
mother, putting her hand affectionately on Mary’s shoulder, 
“but your dear letters comforted me; besides, my dear friend 
Miss Huntingford did her best to cheer me.” 

“ I am very grateful to Miss Huntingford for her kindness to 
you, mother, and I shall be delighted to make her acquaint- 
ance.” 

“ Ah, my dear, you will have to defer that pleasure, for she 
is now very ill of brain fever brought on by intense grief over 
the loss of her nephew. Sir Clement Huntingford, who was one 
of the passengers on board of the Lily of the Valley. You 
must have seen him?” 


155 


156 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


“No, mother, I did not;“ answersd Mary Blythe, looking 
very much surprised. “ I do not believe that he was on board 
of the vessel, for Mr. Hartley is a particular friend of his, and 
I am sure he would have been with him." 

“ But I am positive that he was on board of the steamer, 
my dear, because his aunt received a telegram from him, dated 
the day that he sailed from Cape Colony, for she showed it to 
me herself. ” said Mrs. Blythe, in a tone that admitted of no 
contradiction. 

“ Poor lady, she had anticipated his arrival with such pleas- 
ure that I do not wonder that she is so ill. I know what anguish 
I suffered myself, when I thought that you had perished. Ah ! 
my darling, you may be loved by many, but no one will ever 
love you the same as I do. " 

The tears stood in the old lady’s eyes as she thought how 
blessed she was to have her daughter with her once more. 

“ I am more than thankful that I escaped from that dreadful 
wreck. Just think, I was the only woman saved, ’’ Mary 
said. 

“ God has been very merciful to us, my dear, and we must 
never cease to be grateful to Him, replied Mrs. Blythe with 
emotion. 

The next morning, while Mary Blythe was looking over 
the newspaper, her eyes fell on the account of the murder at 
Morrison’s Hotel. “Merciful Heaven!’’ she cried out, and fell 
back in a dead faint. Her mother was greatly alarmed, and the 
doctor was sent for immediately. Upon being restored to con- 
sciousness, her first question was, “ Is it true ? ’’ 

Her mother looked surprised and answered, “ I do not un- 
derstand you, my dear.’’ 

“ Read the paper. Mr. Hartley has been murdered." 

“ Impossible I ” exclaimed Mrs. Blythe. 

“Your daughter is right, madame. There was a Mr. Charles 
Hartley murdered in London last night, at Morrison’s Hotel," 
said the physician. 

“ Mary, Mary ! ” cried the mother, wringing her hands, as 
she saw her daughter swoon away again. 

“ Poor girl ! the shock has been too much for her," said the 
doctor sympathetically. 

“ It has, indeed, " replied Mrs. Blythe. “ Mr. Hartley 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 1 5/ 

saved her life, and I do not wonder that his death affects her 
so deeply. ” 

“ Oh, I think we can bring her to very soon, my dear 
madame. Don’t be alarmed. She needs quiet and rest, and I 
will leave an opiate for her. ” 

After the physician had gone away his patient sank into a 
quiet slumber which lasted until evening. 

Mrs. Blythe sent for an evening paper. In it she saw that 
the first report of the murder at Morrison’s Hotel was contra- 
dicted. Pat Malone’s name was given in place of Mr. Hart- 
ley’s, also the theory of robbery. It was also stated that the 
injury which the burglar had received, was inflicted by a con- 
federate who was anxious to possess himself of the diamonds. 

As soon as her daughter awoke Mrs. Blythe read this last 
account of the crime to her, and she was delighted to see that 
Mary soon recovered her serenity. 

“Thank Heaven that it was a mistake,” murmured Mary, as 
her heart leaped for joy. 

She had realized that life would be a sad burden to her 
without the companionship of the man she adored. She loved 
him as only an unselfish, devoted woman can love. 

Mary expected to see her lover the next day, but to her 
intense surprise when the morrow came she neither saw him 
nor heard from him. She waited patiently, but two more days 
elapsed without bringing her any tidings; then she became 
alarmed and telegraphed to Charles at Morrison’s Hotel. Not 
receiving any reply to her message, her suspense became 
unbearable. 

Mary recollected that Ned Owen had gone to the same hotel 
as Charles Hartley, so she sent a dispatch to him. She was 
almost in the depths of despair when the servant entered and 
informed her that Mr. Owen was in the drawing-room. 

Mary arose, her heart beating wildly with an undefined pre- 
sentiment of approaching evil. The moment the lad entered 
the room she saw by his face that he was the bearer of bad 
tidings. 

“What has happened, Ned?” demanded the excited girl, 
impulsively. 

“ Oh, Miss Blythe! Our friend, Charles Hartley, has been 
taken to a lunatic asylum.” 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


158 

“Oh, my heart, my heart!” she wailed, pressing her hand 
to her side like one who had just received a mortal wound, as 
she sank into a chair. An expression of horror passed over 
her face, leaving it deadly pale. 

Ned Owen related all the particulars of the mysterious 
murder; also the visit of Mr. Hartley to St. Clement’s Inn, and 
his forcible taking to the asylum. 

“ Do you know in what asylum they have confined him?” 

“I do not, unfortunately. I was made a prisoner myself 
and only released by the lawyer some hours after they had 
taken Mr. Hartley away, with the warning to hold my tongue, 
or I would forfeit my life if I disclosed anything that I had 
witnessed.” 

“ Our friend has fallen into the clutches of a terrible set of 
men. Do you remember the lawyer’s name?” 

“Saunders; he had charge of Mr. Hartley’s property. I 
remember almost every word he spoke. He said: ‘ Come with 
me, Ned. I will show you a quaint spot. My lawyer has his 
office there.’ ” 

“ How strange the whole affair seems to be,” said Mary 
Blythe. 

“ It has puzzled me. Miss Blythe, more than anything ever 
did that happened to me in all my life. Our friend declared 
that he was Sir Clement Huntingford.” 

“I see it all!” cried Mary, as she sprung to her feet ex- 
citedly. “ I see it all. He is Sir Clement Huntingford. I 
remember a conversation we had on board the steamer. It is 
all clear to me now. He left England and went into exile be- 
cause he was the victim of his brother’s sin. His father 
believed him guilty, and he left home, trusting to time to vin- 
dicate him.” 

“ My mother told me that Sir Clement Huntingford was 
aboard of the Lily of the Valley. I will soon solve my doubts. 

I will go to Sutton Court this evening, and you shall come with 
us. Miss Huntingford is very ill; my mother visits her every 
evening, and we can accompany her. While she is in the sick 
room, we will go to the picture gallery, and if the portrait of 
Sir Clement Huntingford — for it is there — resembles Charles 
Hartley, we will know the truth. He has returned to England 
to claim his own — his brother and his lawyer prefer that he 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


159 


should be dead to the world, in order that they may reap the 
benefit of his wealth. We will foil them, Ned.” 

“ I hope we may. Miss Blythe. I believe that you have 
guessed the reason why they have confined him in an asylum. 
There was a gentleman in the room that they called Sir Harry, 
on the morning that they knocked my friend down, handcuffed 
him and dragged him away. I tried to protect him, but all in 
vain. They soon overpowered me, and we were only two 
against five. How are we going to discover where they have 
confined him?” 

“We will have to employ a detective,” answered Mary. 

“ I know a very clever one by the name of William Thomp- 
son. He is trying to discover the man who murdered poor Pat 
Malone.” 

“ I will meet you to-morrow in London, and we will both 
go and see Detective Thompson and get him to aid us in our 
search for Mr. Hartley — or Sir Clement Huntingford, I am 
sure.” 

After they had dined, Mrs. Blythe said: 

“ I must go and spend an hour with my friend.” 

“Will you not let us come with you this evening, dear 
mother ?” asked Maiy. 

“ I haven’t the slightest objection, my dear. A walk to the 
Court and back will do you good. Mr. Owen, you had better 
be our guest this evening, and then Mary can go to Lon- 
don with you in the morning. She tells me she has some 
shopping to do.” 

“ I will be very happy to accept your invitation, and to ac- 
company your daughter also,”remarked the lad smiling, for he 
felt at home with both of the ladies. 

Mary had not informed her mother of the sad news that Ned 
Owen had brought. She thought it would be better to keep 
silent until Miss Huntingford had recovered from her dangerous 
illness. 

They enjoyed their walk to Sutton Court very much in the 
dim twilight. When they had reached their destination, Mrs. 
Blythe escorted her daughter and Ned Owen to the picture gal- 
lery, where she left them while she went to visit the invalid. 

Mary wandered from picture to picture, closely followed 
by Ned. Suddenly she snatched the lamp from its stand and 
held it before a painting, exclaiming as she did so: 


i6o 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


“See! there is Charles himself.” 

“You are right! It is a capital likeness, too,” observed 
Ned Owen, looking at the portrait. 

They both gazed on the handsome face of the young baronet. 
Yes, it was the man they had known as Charles Hartley — the 
hero who had risked his own life to save theirs. 

“You are right, Miss Blythe,” remarked Ned. “Sir Clem- 
ent Huntingford and Charles Hartley are one and the same.” 

“ Ned, we will save him with Heaven’s aid,” said Mary, 
hopefully, as she cast a tender glance on the portrait of 
her lover. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


ROSE VILLA RETREAT. 

The private lunatic asylum known as Rose Villa Retreat, 
over which Dr. Windham and his friend and partner, Dr. 
Harkins, presided, was situated near the Thames River, a few 
miles from London 

It was an abode eminently calculated to drive the sanest 
person mad. Dismal walls of an unusual height, and orna- 
mented at the top with iron spikes, surrounded a dreary wilder- 
ness of tangled bushes and the lean poplars which by courtesy, 
was termed a garden. The house stood in the center of the 
grounds. It was a high, square, gray stone building with 
massive wooden shutters painted dark gray, which made a 
dreary, creaking noise that was like the groaning of a human 
creature in pain. 

The proprietors knew their patrons and they were not de- 
luded by the sympathetic looks or compassionate phrases of the 
people who intrusted relatives to their keeping. These same 
kind people took no trouble to ascertain the nature of the place 
that sheltered the afflicted creatures, or what comforts they had 
to soften their calamity. The doctors knew that no one who 
entered Rose Villa would have committed a beloved relative 
to their care. The unfortunates who came to that dark abode 
were persons who were to be got rid of. 

No matter how cheerless the home, how wretchedly furnish- 
ed the rooms, how miserable the daily fare, how chill the at- 
mosphere; the patients were likely to die the sooner, and the 
bitterly grudged stipend cease to be paid. Dr. Windham, who 
made all the financial arrangements of the establisnment, took 
patients at different rates. He varied his charges according 
to the circumstances of the parties who employed him. His 
policy was neither to ill-use his patients nor to starve them — 
simply to keep them alive at the smallest possible cost. 

He was not personally cruel, but he left the management of 
the interior of the establishment entirely to his partner. Dr. 

11 161 


I62 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


Harkins, who, in turn, left it to the men and women they em- 
ployed. These nurses and keepers did pretty much as they 
liked. Dr. Harkins was the medical adviser of the asylum. 
He drove every day to Rose Villa, looked at his patients and 
then returned to London, where he resided with his family and 
practiced medicine to a certain extent. He only received a 
percentage of the profits of Rose Villa, therefore he did not de- 
rive the benefit of the funds of the asylum as his friend. Dr. 
Windham, did. As his family was large, the doctor was always, 
to some extent, in debt. 

His partner was saving a fortune, he was already rich and 
every day brought him new wealth and made him more greedy 
of gain. Dr. Windham had amassed his money through the 
crimes of other men. More than half his patients were people 
who were sane, but their existence was to be blotted out of the 
world. Many of them possessed money which their unprinci- 
pled relatives were only too eager to grasp; so eager, that they 
did not wait for Providence to call them to another world. 

These patients were very quiet. At first they were loud in 
their complaints, cried out bitterly for justice. They threatened 
— they implored — they wept; they wrote letters and tried with 
piteous persistence to hold some communication with the 
outside world; to find some means of reaching the ear of mercy 
— no one but their merciless jailers heard their appeals. If 
they were too troublesome they were quieted with morphine, 
that accursed drug with which those dark men in those dark 
places coaxed the reason away out of the head by degrees, or 
with a potent dose stupefied the victim. 

When Clement Huntingford arrived at Rose Villa Retreat 
he was immediately confined in one of the padded rooms and 
left to his own mournful reflections. 

To the two doctors who had driven him out to the asylum 
he did not speak during their ride, for he realized that they 
would only laugh at his protestations of sanity. 

Harry Huntingford and his legal adviser, Mr. Saunders, 
came to the asylum after the physicians had secured their 
prey.. 

They were shown into Dr. Windham’s study. The medical 
man knew that Sir Clement Huntingford was sane, and that 
his brother and his friends wished to have Clement locked up. 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


163 

but he was quite ready to be persuaded that the poor man was 
insane. 

Cunning, false and designing, the doctor knew how to turn 
the guilty secret of his patrons to his own advantage, without 
betraying his knowledge. When Dr. Windham entered his 
study he did not betray by a word or a gesture that he per- 
fectly understood the motives of Harry Huntingford in giving 
his brother into his hands. 

“Doctor, is there any hope for this poor young man?” 
asked Mr. Saunders. 

The doctor shrugged his shoulders and pursed his lips. 

“ It is a very difficult case. I have had but one that resem- 
bled it — that was young Howard’s, who believed that he was 
Lord Howard, whereas he was only a distant relative to that 
nobleman. We were never able to cure him of his delusion, 
and he retained it to the day of his death. ” 

“ I am sorry to hear that you think his case is incurable, ” 
observed Harry Huntingford. 

“ So am I, for he is a fine young man, and it seems such a 
pity, ” remarked the lawyer. 

“ It does indeed, ” echoed Dr. Windham. 

“You see he is connected indirectly with the Huntingford 
family. His father was Sir Charles Huntingford and his 
mother was Mary Hartley, a tenant farmer’s daughter of his 
estate,” said Mr. Saunders. 

“Ah, indeed, I understand,” observed the doctor. 

“I feel it my duty,” said Harry Huntingford, “ to see that 
Charles Hartley is properly taken care of; I stand now in my 
father’s place, and he was very fond of Charley.” 

“ It is a very critical case, and I only see one chance of cure, 
which is very hazardous,” remarked the asylum doctor. 

“What is the nature of this one chance?” asked Harry. 

“ I will tell you. This young man appears to be possessed 
with a monomania — a single delusion. Once dispel that, and 
you may restore the brain to its balance. Mr. Hartley has evi- 
dently met your brother. Sir Clement Huntingford, aboard the 
Lily of the Valley. The horrors through which he has passed 
have unsettled his brain. Most likely he was a witness of Sir 
Clement’s death. He imagines that he is the baronet, and 
naturally believes that he is the heir to your father’s estates. 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


164 

Now what I think is this: why not attempt to cure him by 
proving the absurdity of his delusion? Take him down to 
Sutton Court and let your aunt reason with him. Let her ex- 
plain to him that Sir Clement Huntingford is no more; he will 
then see how foolish his fancies have been, and the balance of 
his mind will be restored.” 

Throughout this speech Dr. Windham had kept his eyes 
fixed on the face of Harry Huntingford. When he had finished 
speaking, his hearers exchanged glances, and the lawyer shrug- 
ged his shoulders disdainfully. 

“My dear Dr. Windham,” he said “ I begin to think that 
mad-house physicians do indeed catch a little of their patients’ 
disease. How can you be so absurd as to imagine that any 
revelation can dispel the foolish fancy that has taken posses- 
sion of this unhappy young man. Pshaw! he will believe it to 
the end, and perhaps die a victim to the visitation of a shadow, 
which he conjures from his brain.” 

“Then you do not approve of my plan? ” 

“ No, Dr. Windman. Cure your patient if you can, but you 
must devise some better means before you will cure him.” 

“ Be it so,” answered the proprietor of Rose Villa, still 
watching the faces of the lawyer and his client, with a fixed 
and searching gaze. “ Be it so. I am prepared to certify to 
this young man’s insanity, and I am willing to take him under 
my charge, and to keep him in my establishment, pledging 
myself to insure his safe keeping. I am willing to do this, but 
I expect a liberal compensation for my trouble.” 

“Name your terms,” said Harry Huntingford. 

“Five hundred a year.” 

“Humph!” said the lawyer. “Are not these absurdly 
extravagant terms, taking into consideration the position of 
the patient? ” 

“ No, Mr. Saunders ; the terms are by no means extrav- 
agant, taking into consideration the nature of the casef 
answered the doctor, who looked at the two men before him. 
For a moment their eyes met, and they knew that the secret 
had been divined by the physician. 

“Agreed,” said Harry Huntingford. “I accept your terms.’* 

“ But, Sir Harry, five hundred a year is a large sum for you 
to pay for Charles Hartley,” said the lawyer. 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 165 

“ It is, Saunders, but my father would have paid it, had he 
lived,” replied the hypocrite. 

“Your sentiments do you honor,” remarked Dr. Windham, 
with a bland smile. “ I will see that Mr. Hartley has every 
attention shown him that his sad condition will admit of,” and 
with a polite bow the doctor showed his guests to their 
carriage. 

“ Well!” said Saunders to Harry Huntingford, as they drove 
away from Rose Villa Retreat, “ we have arrranged that 
matter.” 

“Yes, nothing could be better. For his own sake. Dr. 
Windham will guard his prisoner well, and see that he does 
not escape,” replied Harry. 

The two plotters returned to London feeling elated at the 
success of their scheme, but they forgot that a watchful Provi- 
dence often frustrates the villainy of man. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 


SUSPENSE. 

Mary Blythe endured an agony oi suspense when she 
thought of the disappearance of the man whom she loved so 
devotedly. She felt that she had penetrated the secret of her 
lover’s confinement in a lunatic asylum, and she determined, if 
possible, to find him and restore him to liberty. 

She went to London, accompanied by Ned Owen, and she 
immediately called on the detective that he had recommended 
to her patronage. 

Mr. William Thompson had an office in Lambert Street. It 
was not- an aristocratic site for an office, but then Mr. Thomp- 
son’s was not an aristocratic business. He was a hunter of 
criminals, or in other words, he was known as one of the 
shrewdest detectives in London. 

Mr. Thompson had for years before, notwithstanding he 
was such a young-looking man, been in the service of the 
police, as we have said, biit finding private practice more 
lucrative, had thrown off his allegiance to the force and estab- 
lished a private office. When Mary Blythe, escorted by Ned 
Owen, entered the* detective’s office, she was fortunate enough 
to find him seated at his desk busily engaged iu looking over a 
memorandum-book. 

“ Good-morning, Mr. Thompson,” said Ned Owen. 

“ Good-morning, my young friend, I am glad to see you.” 

Ned introduced Mary Blythe, remarking as he did so, “ We 
need your services regarding a very strange affair.” 

I am at your service, madame, pray be seated,” said the 
detective, as he placed a chair for Mary Blythe. 

‘‘Have you discovered anything concerning the mysterious 
murder at Morrison’s Hotel?” asked Ned Owen. 

“No, sir, I have not. I cannot find a single clew to work 
on, and for once in my life I have to let the public believe in 
its own theory, though I am sure that the burglar was not killed 
by one of his pals.” 


166 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


167 


“Why?” questioned Mary Blythe. 

“ Because the diamonds were found beside the injured man. 
Depend upon it, if Pat Malone had a partner, he would have 
secured the diamonds. There is a mystery about this affair 
which I cannot fathom,” observed the detective. 

“There is more than one mystery for you to solve, Mr. 
Thompson,” said Mary Blythe; “ Mr. Hartley is missing.” 

“ Missing?” exclaimed the detective in surprise. 

“,Yes, and we have every reason to suspect that he is con- 
fined in a mad house.” 

“ By whom?” demanded the shrewd detective. 

“ His half-brother, Harry Huntingford,” replied Ned Owen. 

“ How can Harry Huntingford be Charles Hartley’s half- 
brother?” demanded Thompson, looking puzzled. 

“ Because the man whom we knew as Charles Hartley is in 
reality Sir Clement Huntingford.” 

“ By Jove!” exclaimed the detective; “ I see it all.” 

“See what?” asked Ned Owen in surprise. 

“ I understand the mysterious affair at Morrison’s Hotel, 
You have let daylight in on the affair.” 

Mary Blythe then told the detective how Ned Owen and 
herself had identified Sir Clement’s portrait at Sutton Court; 
also of the history he had given her on board of the Lily of the 
Valley, regarding Sir Clement’s disagreement with his father 
and his exile from home. 

Ned Owen then related the scene in the lawyer’s office. 

“ Harry Huntingford is at the bottom of the whole affair, 
but we cannot prove anything. We must try to discover where 
his brother is confined first;” said the detective, positively. 

“Do you think you can discover where they have taken 
him?” asked Mary Blythe. 

“ I believe I will be able to do so in the course of a few days. 
Please give me your address. Miss Blythe; I will communicate 
with you as soon as I have any news of Sir Clement.” 

He wrote Miss Blythe’s address in his note-book. 

“ I hope that you will be able to find him, Mr. Thompson,” 
said Mary earnestly, as she arose to depart. 

“ If he is in England, I will,” replied the detective, as he 
politely bowed his visitors out of his office. 

“ Here's a coil to unravel ! ” exclaimed the detective, as 
soon as he was alone. 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


I68 

He lit a fresh cigar, and sat down to think the matter over. 

Two hours later he was on his way to Morley’s Hotel. 

Entering the private entrance he asked to see James Shaw, 
who was employed as a waiter in the hotel. 

After shaking hands with the waiter he said: 

“ Show me into a private room and order a bottle of sherry. 
We’ll drink it together and talk at the same time. ” 

The waiter ushered him into a small private dining-room 
off the hall, then brought him a bottle of wine and some 
biscuits. 

As soon as they were seated and had drunk a glass of wine 
each, the detective said: 

“ I want you to help me in a little affair. I will pay you 
handsomely.” 

“ I have no objection to assist you, my friend, if I can pos- 
sibly do so, ” replied James Shaw, smiling. 

“You certainly can. I see by the papers that you have a 
guest who patronizes this house considerably — Sir Harry 
Huntingford. ” 

“ Yes, sir, a nice liberal gentleman he is too, ” answered 
the waiter. 

“What are his habits? ” asked Mr. Thompson. 

“ He keeps rather late hours, but he never returns home in- 
toxicated. He usually dines at his club. He is never here 
after six o’clock.” 

“ Do you think that you could manage to let me have half 
an hour in his room, undisturbed?” asked the detective. 

“ Nothing easier. But what has Sir Harry been guilty of, 
that you want to look up evidence against him?" asked the 
waiter curiously. 

“ Nothing that would interest you, my friend, ” replied the 
detective. 

“ But I would not like to get him into trouble, ” observed 
the waiter. 

" Never fear, James; he will get into trouble enough with- 
out your assistance. I am not going to arrest him; I merely 
want a clew to work on. He may be in league with other par- 
ties. If you will give me thirty minutes undisturbed in his 
rooms, I will give you thirty pounds. ” 

The waiter’s eyes sparkled. Such offeirs as this did not come 
every day. ^ 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


169 


“ I will manage it for you,” he said. “ I will go up-stairs 
now and see if he is in his rooms. I will find some excuse for 
going in.” 

After an absence of a few minutes the man returned and 
said : 

” Follow me; the coast is clear. I will watch on the landing 
while you are in the rooms.” 

As soon as Mr. Thompson found himself in Harry Hunting- 
ford’s chambers he set to work to examine his desk, which 
stood in the corner of the sitting-room. He quickly found 
a key on the bunch which he carried in his pocket to un- 
lock the desk. 

He ran over the contents, but found no clew, and was about 
to abandon his search, when he thought he would ascertain if 
there was a secret drawer in it. 

He looked about very carefully, and was rewarded by find- 
ing a spring, which he touched, and a small drawer flew open. 

It contained but a single paper — a receipt received from Dr. 
Windham for one hundred and twenty-five pounds in advance, 
for board and medical attendance of Charles Hartley for three 
months. 

Thompson copied the document in his note-book, returned 
the receipt to the drawer, closed it, arranged all the papers as 
he had found them, then locked the desk, and was about 
to leave the room, when James Shaw opened the door, saying: 

“Time is up.” 

“ All right, my friend, I am ready,” and he calmly walked 
out of the apartment. 

As he was about to leave, the waiter asked him if he had 
discovered any clews. 

“ Excuse me answering your question, my friend. I have 
left everything as I found it, and there is not the slightest 
danger that Sir Harry Huntingford will discover any one has 
entered the room during his absence. Here are the thirty 
pounds that I promised you,” and he slipped the notes into the 
waiter’s hands. 

“Thank you, sir,” said Shaw, as- he pocketed the notes. 

“I want you to keep your eye on Sir Harry Huntingford. 
Let me know who calls to see him, if possible; in fact, all the 
items of information that you can gather. Drop me a line 


170 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


from time to time. Remember, I can afford to pay you well 
for any service you render me.” 

. “ I will let you know all that I can about Sir Harry. I will 

keep my eye on him,” answered James Shaw. 

“Do so; let nothing escape you. Should any doctors call 
on him, listen to their conversation — write down every word 
that you can catch — for I am anxious to take a peep into this 
man’s private life. In order to do so, I must know all that 
transpires.” 

“ I understand you, Mr Thompson, and I will serve you in 
this case as well as I did in the Palmer affair,” replied the 
waiter. 

“ If you do I shall be satisfied,” and with a nod to his 
paid assistant the detective left the hotel. 

This man employed a number of people on various occa- 
sions, and as he was a liberal paymaster, he generally ob- 
tained that which he sought. This was one of the secrets of 
his success. 

As he walked down Charing Cross the detective muttered: 

“ I have found an end to unravel this mysterious coil. I 
must find some means to communicate with Sir Clement Hunt- 
ingford, and without much loss of time, for he might be re- 
moved to another asylum.” 

The detective walked on, muttering his thoughts aloud — 
a habit of his when he was excited. 

“ I will release that unfortunate man, or perish in the at- 
tempt. By Jove! How his brother must hate him! but be- 
ware, Harry Huntingford, there is an avenger on your track.” 

And this hunter of criminals turned toward a telegraph 
office in the neighborhood. Pie entered it and wrote the fol- 
lowing dispatch: 

“To Miss Mary Blythe, Sutton, Surrey, England — I have 
discovered where your friend is. Call at my office to-morrow 
at 12 M. Need your assistance. 

“William Thompson.” 

He then returned home, feeling that he could not do any- 
thing further until he found some other grounds to work on. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 


INTERVIEW BETWEEN THE BROTHERS. 

While Mary Blythe was exerting herself to discover where 
they had hidden her lover, Clement Huntingford was suffering 
from mental anguish such as is given to few men to endure, 

The day that his captors had brought him to Rose Villa 
Retreat, he had been thrust into a padded room, where he was 
allowed to remain for hours without food or the sight of a 
human face. 

The cries of the mad people near him resounded in his ears. 
He would occasionally hear a wild burst of song from a poor 
insane prima-donna who was confined in the same ward. 

This unfortunate lady had been a celebrated singer in her 
day, and had held audiences spell-bound by her execution and 
the natural beauty of her voice. She acquired a fortune, mar- 
ried a man whom she loved devotedly, and for a few years was 
a happy woman, her husband being kind and affectionate. 
They had one child, a beautiful boy of two years. 

During one of her professional tours when she was accom- 
panied by her husband, son and his nurse, the train on which 
they were traveling met with an accident, and she saw her loved 
ones killed before her eyes. The shock was fatal, her reason 
fled, and her relatives were obliged to confine her in Rose Villa 
Retreat. 

Mingled with the mad singer’s songs. Sir Clement heard 
the wild laughter and deep curses of the other patients 

He groaned aloud, for bethought: 

“ I shall become mad if I remain here.” 

Then he thought of Mary Blythe, and he felt that to her 
his fate must be enveloped in mystery. He knew that Ned 
Owen would exert himself to free him — if the lad only knew 
where he was to be found. He felt some anxiety for the boy’s 
fate. The last glimpse he had had of him was when his cap- 
tors had locked Ned in the room that Saunders’ clerk occupied 
as an office. 


171 


172 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


Sir Clement was left in the padded room for several days, 
and his meals were brought to him by' a keeper who never 
spoke. 

He had offered the man large sums of money if he would 
assist him to escape; but the keeper smiled, and did not deign 
to take the slightest notice of his bribes, for he was used to 
such offers. 

While Sir Clement Huntingford was enduring his unwel- 
come captivity, his brother was figuring in London society 
as his successor, and receiving the congratulations of his friends 
upon his succession to the Huntingford titles and estates; but 
he was ill at ease mentally. His affairs were not ordered to suit 
his fancy; besides, he was growing more and more dissatisfied, 
with his intended wife. 

Maud Lumley sadly bored him, and he always felt a sense 
of relief on leaving her. He hated to be on duty as her escort 
and absented himself on every occasion that he could. 

She was a beautiful, accomplished girl, but lacked the 
womanly charm of pleasing. 

Harry Huntingford was in love with the dashing actress, 
doubly so since the evening that she had so cleverly destroyed 
the check, and freed him from Rotunno’s clutches. He had 
felt himself to be Rotunno’s slave, and therefore it was a de- 
cided relief to be once more free. 

The Italian fully realized that he was powerless, and that 
he could no longer regard the young Englishman as his tool. 

He had refrained from seeking Harry’s society ever since 
the evening on which they had supped together at Mademoi- 
selle Cora’s. 

Harry Huntingford had sought the company of the actress 
more and more, and he only felt happy when he was with her; 
she always banished the phantoms which haunted him. He 
would have broken his engagement with Maud Lumley, and 
forfeited the estate left to him by his mother if his brother 
Clement had not returned to England. 

Clement had been confined in Rose Villa Retreat about ten 
days when Harry drove out to the asylum and asked to see Dr. 
Harkins. 

The physician did not allow his visitor to wait many min- 
utes before he made his appearance. 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. I73 

“ Ah, Sir Harry, I am delighted to see you,” said Dr. Har- 
kins, shaking hands with his guest. 

“ How is Mr. Hartley?” 

“ Very well, bodily; but mentally, no better. He still de- 
clares that he is Sir Clement Huntingford, and offers his keeper 
all sorts of bribes to assist him to escape.” 

“Ah! Of course there is no danger of his doing so?” said 
Harry Huntingford. 

“Not the slightest. Our keepers are very trustworthy, and 
understand their business,” observed the doctor. 

“ I should like to have a private interview with Mr. Hartley, 
if you think he is not dangerously violent.” 

“Certainly, Sir Harry. I will station a keeper within call,” 
answered Dr. Harkins, as he led the way to a small reception 
room in the wing where Sir Clement Huntingford was confined. 
Giving his visitor a chair, he went in quest of his patient. 

After an absence often minutes the physician returned with 
Sir Clement Huntingford and his keeper. The unfortunate 
baronet’s hands were handcuffed. 

“ Station your man at the end of the hall. I will call him 
when our interview is finished,” said Harry Huntingford to Dr. 
Harkins, who bowed and left the room with the keeper. 

The two half-brothers faced each other as soon as they 
were alone. 

Sir Clement looked at the man who had deprived him of 
his liberty. His eyes flashed and he caught his breath, feeling 
overpowered by intense emotion. Harry Huntingford, for a 
brief moment, had the grace to feel ashamed of his villainy. 

“You have come to gloat over my misery,” said Sir Clement 
Huntingford, bitterly. 

“ I came to make you an offer,” replied the younger brother 
coolly. “ I came to talk over matters and see if we could not 
make some other arrangement; for, upon my word, I do not 
like to have you confined here.” 

“ Then give me my liberty,” promptly answered his brother. 

“ I dare not. The world considers you dead, and you must 
remain so.” 

“In order that you may enjoy my birthright; in order that 
the revenues of my estate may be squandered by you and the 
villains into whose power you have fallen. I cannot believe 
that you are my father’s son.” 


174 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


“ Because I happen to be a younger son, you naturally think 
I am not entitled to any of my father’s property,” observed 
Harry Huntingford. 

“ No, Harry; the injustice of the law that entitles the eldest 
to inherit the estate, I will admit — in fact, I was prepared 
to share my fortune with you — to forgive the past, but 
you and your interesting friends did not give me any time to 
make known my intentions.” 

“ We were obliged to act promptly or not at all,” was Harry 
Huntingford’s candid admission. 

“Harry, you are not acting for the best ; believe me that the 
men who advised you to thrust me into a mad house did so 
from motives of their own. Give me my freedom, do not 
leave me here until my reason is dethroned. You cannot 
imagine how horrible it is to be kept confined without the 
sound of a familiar voice, with the screams and songs and wild 
laughter of maniacs ringing in your ears night and day; to be 
deprived of fresh air, to be deprived of all intelligent resources 
of amusement, to be deprived of your liberty and treated like 
a dumb beast, to witness a thousand and one acts of cruelty 
that you cannot prevent. Have you no feeling, are all natural 
instincts dumb within you? Look at my scarred hands,” said 
the excited man as he held up his handcuffed hands. “ Look 
up at these hands which I burnt the night I rescued you from 
the flames when the north wing of Sutton Court was burnt!” 

“ I will give you your liberty providing you consent to leave 
England at once, and I’ll send you a yearly allowance of five 
thousand pounds,” said Harry Huntingford. 

“You have the audacity to offer me five thousand pounds 
of my own money, and exile! Great Heaven! I begin to believe 
that I really am going mad Since I left Cape Colony I have 
seen nothing but the darkest side of human nature. Your boon 
companion, Isidore Jacobs, aided by a scoundrelly Frenchman, 
named Le Grand, manufactured the dynamite clocks that blew 
up the Lily of the Valley. The man who was on the raft with 
me, Pat Malone, tried to rob me, and you in turn sought my 
life, and killed him,” said Sir Clement. 

“It it is false!” cried Harry Huntingford excitedly. 

“ It is true, for I have the silent witness which you left — a 
seal, bearing the Huntingford coat-of-arms, and also your ini- 
tials engraved upon it. ” 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


175 


The discovered murderer fell into the nearest chair. He 
turned ghastly pale, buried his face in his hands, and groaned 
aloud. 

“ Merciful Heaven ! for what have I been spared? I have 
returned to England, only to find my brother a murderer, an 
associate of the vilest set of villains outside of Newgate. That 
wily lawyer, Saunders, knows that I know that he cheated my 
easy-going father for years, therefore he was as eager as the 
Jew, to lock me up. I knew you had committed sin, Harry, 
and broken poor Clara Richards’ heart; also, that through you 
I was an exile from my father’s roof, but that you would seek 
my life or lock me up in a mad-house in order to enjoy my 
fortune, I never could have imagined.” 

“ Will you accept my offer? ” demanded his brother, as he 
sprung to his feet. 

He could no longer listen to his brother’s reproaches with- 
out feeling the pangs of remorse which he had been endeavor- 
ing to stifle ever since he had entered upon his criminal 
career. 

” No; ten thousand times no ! I will not purchase my free- 
dom; I will trust to the justice of my Heavenly Father to re- 
store me to liberty. ” 

“ You will remain here then for the rest of your life, ” re- 
plied Harry Huntingford, with a sneer. 

“ I will trust to that Power who is over us all — whose 
eye never sleeps. Mark my words, my unbelieving brother, 
that a day of reckoning will come. You may go on for a time 
and prosper. Your conscience may not trouble you much 
now, but you will live to bitterly repent of all your evil deeds.” 

“ Bah! preach to the madmen who are henceforward to be 
your companions, I will not listen to your cant,” said Harry 
Huntingford. 

“You will yet live to be sorry for the wicked, unnatural 
part you are acting toward me,” observed Sir Clement. 

“ Not I, my pious brother. I always hated you — from 
my childhood. My hatred grew with my growth. You shall 
remain here in Rose Villa Retreat, dead to the world, while I 
shall enjoy your handsome fortune,” answered Harry. 

“ Beware, Harry Huntingford, the day on which I regain 
my liberty will close your criminal career.” 


176 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


“ Forewarned, forearmed. I shall take care that you do 
not escape,” replied the younger brother, going to the door and 
calling the keeper, who entered the room and ordered Sir Clem- 
ent to move on. 

The unfortunate victim of man’s inhumanity obeyed, cast- 
ing a reproachful glance at his brother as he disappeared. 

Harry Huntingford slipped a sovereign into the keeper’s 
hand and whispered: 

“ Guard him well !” 

“Never fear, sir; he shall not escape,” and with a respectful 
bow he followed Sir Clement and locked him up. 

“Well, how do you find your friend? ” asked Dr. Har- 
kins, as Harry came into his office with a gloomy brow. 

“ He appears worse instead of better. I cannot see the 
slightest improvement in his condition.” 

“ Mentally, there is none,” replied the doctor; “ In fact, I 
believe that on that one subject he will never be cured,” 
said the doctor, dryly. 

“ I hope that you will take every precaution to guard against 
his escape, for it would cause nle a great deal of annoyance 
should he regain his liberty.” 

“Undoubtedly,” observed the doctor 

“ Therefore, have him guarded carefully, doctor.” 

“ I shall do so. Sir Harry,” replied the physician, as he 
shook hands with his patron. 

Harry Huntingford returned to London, feeling that in 
spite of all his precautions his future was very insecure, 
and that the fortune he held through fraud, he was liable to be 
deprived of at any moment. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


LORD LANDSMERE’S SUIT. 

While Sir Clement Huntingford was sighing in vain for his 
liberty, suffering mentally and physically as only a refined 
man could from his enforced confinement, his relatives and 
friends mourned his untimely fate. ' 

Lord Landsmere was very much affected by his nephew’s 
supposed death, and his sister’s illness caused him intense 
anxiety. 

Madame Passo had a most fascinating, sympathetic manner 
which the old nobleman admired exceedingly, and he sought 
her society frequently, for she soothed him by her kind and 
consoling words. Her brother had informed her of the de- 
struction of the forged check by Mademoiselle Cora. Rotunno 
had also told her of Harry Huntingford’s threat to prevent her 
marriage with his uncle, therefore he advised her to bring Lord 
Landsmere to terms with as little delay as possible. The 
madame determined to follow her brother’s counsel. She did 
not have long to wait for an opportunity, as the old nobleman 
called a few days afterward. Beatrice received him in her 
boudoir — a room furnished with dark crimson velvet hangings, 
and furniture upholstered in the latest style. Madame Passo’s 
dark beauty looked well amid such surroundings. 

When Lord Landsmere entered the room she saw by the 
air of dejection which enveloped him that he was suffering 
from mental depression. After they had exchanged the usual 
greetings of the day,shesaid, “How is Miss Huntingford to-day ?” 

“She is in a very critical condition; her physicians give me 
but slight hopes of her recovery,” replied Lord Landsmere. 

“ I am very, very sorry to hear that such is the case,” ob- 
served Beatrice Passo , with a sigh. 

“Ah, my dear lady, my nephew’s death has been a sad blow. 
My sister was wrapped up in him, for she was the only mother 
hat he ever knew. I do not wonder that she is so ill. I was 
12 ' M7 


178 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


very fond of him and anticipated his return with so much 
pleasure, therefore his sad fate is a terrible blow to me.” 

“ Oh, my dear lord ! It is a sad trial, my heart weeps for 
your suffering,” replied the widow sympathetically. 

“ Poor Clement was my pride, my hope, the joy of my de- 
clining years,” said the old nobleman mournfully. 

“Alas ! my lord,” sighed Beatrice. 

“Ah, my dear friend, you do not know how severe this blow 
really is. Clement went into exile on account of a difficulty 
he had with his father. They quarreled. My brother did 
Clement a great injustice. Harry Huntingford was at the 
bottom of the whole affair. I never admired that young 
relative of mine, he was always a hypocrite even as a child. 
His parents were blind, they could never see his faults, they 
often blamed Clement for deeds which Harry had committed. 
Ah ! it was hard that he should perish so miserably. Harry 
Huntingford becomes my legal heir by his brother’s death. 
Unfortunately, Landsmere is strictly entailed, and it goes with 
the title, but every farthing I possess that can be disposed of 
otherwise, he shall be deprived of,” said the old nobleman in an 
emphatic manner. 

“ You surprise me, my lord, I imagined that Sir Harry Hunt- 
ingford was too honorable to act so treacherously. You are 
right in condemning him, for he must have driven his brother 
into exile. Oh! it vexes me! it makes me rebel, for I know 
how you must suffer. I cannot restrain my indignation,” said 
the artful woman, as she acted the part of the disinterested 
friend to perfection. 

“ Dear lady, since you share my sorrow, already its weight 
appears less burdensome,” answered the old lord. 

“ Indeed, I wish I could believe it,” said Madame Passo. 

Lord Landsmere looked at her affectionately, then he took 
her beautiful hand in his and kissed it gallantly. The widow 
feigned embarrassment for a moment, and then she said: 

“ Do not let us talk about your worthless nephew. Let us 
speak of yourself — your prospects.” 

“Advise me then, dear lady — advise me; you who are wis- 
dom itself. I promise to obey your commands.” 

“ But perhaps I do not wish you to obey them,” said 
Beatrice, sighing and lowering her eyes modestly. 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 1 79 

“ Why, will your advice be so hard to follow? asked Lord 
Landsmere. 

“ I do not know, my lord,” answered Madame Passo, gravely, 
I would be advising you against my own interests, for I should 
lose you as a friend; but still I, will tell you frankly what I 
think is best for you. If I were in your place, and so sad and 
lonely as you are, I would firmly and boldly take this 
resolution. To no longer shun society, to go out into the 
world and meet some beauteous woman, rich, pure and noble, 
I would have you ask her in marriage.” 

“And do you wish me to marry?” asked Lord Landsmere, 
reproachfully. 

“Yes, my Lord,” answered the wily widow, watching the 
old nobleman closely. “ Frankly I, as your humble friend, 
would much rather that you remained free, but I think you are 
so situated that you ought to marry, for you need a kind, affec- 
tionate wife to be your companion, to nurse you when you are 

“Oh, my good friend!” exclaimed Lord Landsmere, im- 
patiently. “ How can you give me such advice?” 

“ My Lord, you are wrong to be vexed with me, when in 
my very love for you I counsel you to do a thing which will 
cause me much sadness. You ought to think kindly of me for 
this conquest of myself. To make such a sacrifice, one must 
needs love you very dearly,” said Beatrice Passo, casting a 
fond glance on the enamored old man. 

“ But, my dear lady, cannot you love me without this sacri- 
fice?” asked the old nobleman, taking Madame Basso’s hand 
and glancing at her affectionately. 

“Oh, I would not ask for any happier fate!” exclaimed 
Beatrice, smiling sweetly. “ But what will become of you in 
your solitude? I cannot always be with you.” 

“And why not?” asked the nobleman. 

The widow withdrew her hand, and rising walked toward 
the window with an air of wounded dignity. Lord Landsmere 
followed her immediately to where she was standing. 

He looked at the fair Italian, whom he believed to be one 
of the best and truest of her sex. For a moment there was 
silence between them, and then in a voice which trembled with 
strong emotion he spoke. 


i8o 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


“ Beatrice, listen to me. You have described the sweets of 
matrimony so pleasantly that I am persuaded — I am tired of 
my lonely life — yes, I will marry, but it must be with one whose 
tastes are in unison, with one whom I have long loved, and to 
whom, I hope, I am not wholly indifferent. Can you not under- 
stand me now?” 

“ No, my lord,” replied the Italian, sighing deeply. 

“Then it is because you will not, Beatrice. You seek 
an excuse.” 

“Ah, can it be?” asked Madame Basso, her countenance 
beaming with joy. “ No, no; it would be a folly — ” 

“ Folly !” exclaimed Lord Landsmere. “ Is it folly to love 
you, to wish to make you my wife? You are an angel of 
goodness, my consolation, my devoted friend.” 

“ You are right, my lord. I am your devoted friend, there- 
fore I will not allow you to commit an act of folly for which 
the world would never forgive you.” 

“ But, my dear lady, I — ” 

“ Hear me, my lord,” said the Italian, interrupting him as 
he was about to make a protest. “ I cannot consent. Remem- 
ber, you are a proud English peer, while I am only a poor 
Italian woman who has wandered from her home. The idea is 
absurd. I feel honored that you have thought of me. But it 
is impossible.” 

“ And why is it impossible? Ah, you do not love me?” 

“ Oh, my lord, believe me, that is not the obstacle — ” 

“But why, then, do you refuse me?” 

“ Because I am not suited to you — because I do not care to 
mingle with your great world. I love solitude — peace — re- 
tirement,” answered Madame Basso. 

“Then come with me to the country — the life of retirement 
is what I dream of, too. We will leave London and go down 
to Landsmere to my old castle, which I am sure you will like. 
We will be married there, and there we will live for each other, 
apart from the noise and bustle of the world. It is not a proud 
nor a brilliant destiny that I offer you, but a calm retreat, a 
quiet peaceful life with an old man who loves you, who will be your 
slave, and who, in your dear presence, will forget ail his sor- 
rows,” said the nobleman earnestly, for the beautiful widow had 
won his heart. She had strangely fascinated him when he first 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


I8l 


met her, and as their acquaintance progressed she had won his 
confidence. He felt an affection for her that he did not for 
any one of the society belles that he had met since becoming a 
widower. 

Madam Passo was a born actress. She had felt overjoyed 
when Lord Landsmere offered her his hand, but she still restrain- 
ed herself, and. said sweetly, “It is a tender thought — to be your 
wife, your comforter. I cannot resist the temptation. I do 
not want to be indelicate, but it is useless to resist the prompt- 
ings of my heart, which tells me that I love you." 

Lord Landsmere bent over her, took her hand and kissed it, 
his face beaming with joy. 

“ Beatrice! my own! my own! what happiness! And I, who 
came here with a sad and broken heart, have found consolation 
in your presence. Ah, do not weep, sweet Beatrice," he said, 
as Madame Passo buries her face in her handkerchief. 

“ My lord, they are tears of joy ; let them flow," she murmured. 

“ They are pearls of love, let me dry them," said the infatu- 
ated old nobleman, as he gently drew the widow toward him 
until her head rested on his shoulder. 

After a few moments of blissful silence, Madame Passo roused 
herself. 

“ If visitors should surprise me they would divine the 
cause of my emotion. Leave me now; you can return again 
this evening, " she said. 

“ I am a happy man. I will leave you, but I shall be sure 
to call again this evening. To-morrow night I want you to go 
and hear Patti with me. Will you?" 

“Yes, my lord, I shall be delighted to do so," replied the 
Italian. 

“ You love music, I know, you are such a fine musician 
yourself. Au revoir until evening, " said Lord Landsmere, 
kissing her on the cheek. 

He was absent-minded enough to forget both his cane and 
his gloves. Beatrice brought them to him as he was about de- 
scending the stairs. 

“ My lord, you forgot your cane and gloves.” 

“ You see, my dear lady, that you have made the old man 
young again; he forgets his staff," answered the old noble- 
man, smilingly. 


i 82 


FO^ LOVE OF GOLD. 


“ Adieu, my lord. Return this evening, ” commanded 
Beatrice, waving her hand to him as he went down-stairs. 

When Beatrice Passo heard Lord Landsmere’s carriage 
drive away, she clasped her hands together and exclaimed ex- 
ultingly: 

“ At last ! at last ! I am to breathe the air of rank and 
station; that air for which my soul has sighed so long. Coun- 
tess of Landsmere ! I knew it. I knew that I was not born to 
live in the shoal water of plebeian life, nor tread the mean 
though glittering path of vulgar opulence. No; this brow was 
made to wear a coronet, this form to grace the circles of nobil- 
ity. Ah, now my dream is realized, at last I am a countess. I 
am the chosen wife of one of England’s proudest peers. 
There is need of caution yet, and the deep joy of my great 
triumph must not yet be seen. I do not trust Morelli, nor yet 
Harry Huntingford, who will do his best to prevent my mar- 
riage with his uncle. I must not allow Lord Landsmere to an- 
nounce our engagement, ” and the scheming woman sat down 
to think how she could arrange matters so as to deceive the 
two men she feared. 


CHAPTER XXX. 


A SCHEMING VILLAIN. 

Harry Huntingford began to feel more secure every suc- 
ceeding day in his false position. 

His brother wa^ as dead to the world as if he had ceased to 
exist. 

Both the doctors to whom he had been consigned would 
guard him well, for Sir Clement Huntingford was not a patient, 
but a prisoner, to be carefully kept under bolt and bar. 

His jailers knew that they must not allow him to escape, 
for should he do so, the consequences to several of their friends 
would be most disastrous. 

Harry, since he had had the command of his brother’s for- 
tune, did not care about Mr. Lumley’s assistance. 

He had offered to pay the lawyer what he owed him, but 
Mr. Lumley had been too shrewd to accept his offer. 

He did not wish to free the baronet, and looked upon him 
as his lawful prey. 

He was becoming alarmed, for he saw that Harry Hunting- 
ford treated his daughter with a great deal of indifference. 

Maud Lumley did not resent his conduct, for she loved the 
handsome scoundrel, not wisely but too well. 

She loved him too deeply to resign him. 

Her heart told her that he did not love her, but she persist- 
ed in wilfully deceiving herself. 

When he was away from her, she longed with an unutterable 
yearning for his presence. 

The pleading expression of her beautiful face might have 
touched a heart of stone, but Harry Huntingford did not 
notice it. 

He always felt bored in her presence, and was relieved 
when he could avoid fulfilling an engagement with her. 

He would have sacrificed his interests, but that he was in 
dread of Lawyer Lumley’s wrath. 

183 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


184 

One evening, after he had left his future father-in-law’s 
house, he drove to Mademoiselle Cora’s. 

He found the fascinating actress alone. 

She had just returned from the theater. 

Her drawing-room was filled with the choicest flowers ar- 
ranged in various devices — bouquets and baskets. There were 
even miniature boats filled with the most beautiful exotics. 

These floral tributes were from her numerous admirers. 

One tiny bouquet of violets was placed carefully in a small 
glass vase, and to it was given the place of honor in the center 
of the mantel-piece. 

Harry Huntingford’s eyes sparkled, and he smiled as he 
saw that his flowers had been so carefully preserved. 

The actress caught his eye. 

‘You see I have kept your flowers,” she said. 

‘ I am glad that you thought enough of the donor to 
do so.” 

“ My dear friend, you were too generous. Why did you 
send such a costly gift with them?” asked Mademoiselle Cora, 
as she held up her hand and displayed on her third finger a 
costly diamond ring. 

“ Because, my dear lady, I wanted to make you some return 
for the services you had rendered me. Because I love you — ” 

“ Hold! Not another word. Sir Harry, You forget your- 
self. I am Cora Owen, known to the public as Mademoiselle 
Cora, an actress, but I am nevertheless a virtuous woman; far 
more so than many ot your society belles!” cried the indignant 
girl, as the hot blood dyed her cheeks, and she looked him 
sternly in the face. 

“ My dear Cora, you wilfully misunderstand me. I did not 
mean to insult you. Heaven forbid! I am asking you to be 
my wife.” 

“Your wife!” exclaimed Cora in amazement. 

“ Yes, my wife, no one is more worthy than yourself. I do 
not know a woman whom I honor as I do you,” he said, taking 
her hand. 

Mademoiselle Cora withdrew her hand saying: 

“ Sir Harry, you do me much honor. You flatter me ex- 
ceedingly by paying me such a compliment, but I really cannot 
accept your offer.” 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 185 

“Why not? Cannot you learn to love me?” asked Harry 
Huntingford. 

“ I do love you, dear friend; that is the reason why I refuse 
you, for I know if I married you, you would bitterly repent it,” 
said the actress, sadly. 

“ I never would, if you love me, Cora, consent to make me 
happy,” said her suitor, eagerly. 

“ I dare not. I cannot. We might be happy for a few 
brief months, and no more. I am not a fitting mate for a baronet. 
You forget the disparity in our stations of life.” 

“ I do not, you are a fit mate for a king. I am not the first 
baronet who has taken his wife from the stage, consent Cora; 
if you love me, consent, he pleaded,” stretching out his arms 
to her. 

“ I can refuse you no longer, Harry, for I love you,” mur- 
mured Cora, as she fell into his arms and was clasped in a warm 
embrace. 

“ My darling,” he exclaimed, as he imprinted his first kiss 
on her lips. 

“ I am acting against my better judgment,” said the blush- 
ing girl, 

“What do I care whatthe world says or thinks, provided that 
you love me? I am a proud and happy man to have won your 
heart,” said Harry Huntingford, emphatically. 

“ I hope that you will never regret making me your wife. 
It would break my heart if ever you were to become ashamed 
of me. I am not a fine polished woman of the world such as 
those in your own rank of life.” 

“ That is why I love you. The women in my own caste 
are taught that it is not good form to have any feeling. They 
are all of the same pattern. Few of them possess an atom of 
intelligence.” 

“ You are too severe, Harry. Women may hide their feel- 
ings, but we all have them, more or less,” said Mademoiselle 
Cora, wisely. , 

The next hour was one of real happiness to both Cora Owen 
and her lover. The girl did indeed love Harry Huntingford 
devotedly, and her heart beat joyfully when she discovered 
that she was as deeply beloved in return. 

Harry Huntingford was equally happy, for he loved Cora 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


1 86 

as he had never loved any other woman, and rejoiced that he 
had been the one to win the brilliant woman’s heart. 

Not until he bade Mademoiselle Cora farewell for the night, 
and promised to call on her the following day, did a thought of 
Maud Lumley’s claim upon him enter his mind. 

He walked home in a brown study. When he found him- 
self in his own room he lit a cigar and sat down, still pondering. 

The thoughtful frown deepened on his face as he reflected 
on his dilemma. He arose and paced to and fro, revolving this 
question. 

“ What shall I do ? In the days gone past,” he mused, " a post- 
chaise and four, two muffled bravos and a midnight abduc- 
tion would be the thing. Or one might go and seek that con- 
venient college friend ever ready to personate the clergyman, 
and a mock marriage would settle the fair one’s scruples.” 

He knew, without the parson and the wedding-ring, she 
would not listen to a word. Mademoiselle Cora, whatever her 
faults might be, was an honorable woman. No man could 
boast of having been her accepted lover She did a great many 
things that a lady might not have done, but she had never 
loved any one until she met Harry Huntingford. Better men 
had knelt at her feet, but, with a strange inconsistency which 
women are sometimes guilty of, she loved the man who was 
most unworthy of her love. 

Harry Huntingford knew that he had won her heart before 
he had asked the actress to become his wife, for she had shown 
her preference for his society openly, and she always had a 
smile for him, even on the stage, when she saw him take his 
accustomed seat in the box he had hired for the season. 

As he paced to and fro, thinking it out, the diabolical 
scheme grew clearer and clearer every moment, impossible as 
it seemed at first, now it seemed quite feasible. It was prac- 
ticable, but where was the convenient friend to be found? 

Such men as he knew, he dared not approach on the sub- 
ject. Most of them, not such very good men either, would 
decline to lend themselves to the furtherance of the misery 
and destruction of an innocent, trusting girl. 

Harry thought over the list of his acquaintances. He 
might possibly get Isidore Jacobs to assist him, but did not 
care for trusting the Jew in such a matter; besides, he felt cer- 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


187 


tain that he must have the assistance of some one that Cora 
knew, so as not to arouse her suspicions, for he was well aware 
that Cora was a woman of intelligence and not easily deceived. 

He suddenly thought of Francisco Rotunno, and his face 
lighted up as he said aloud, unconsciously: 

“Yes, Rotunno will do it. He is a man with neither honor, 
conscience, principle, nor feeling — a man capable of commit- 
ting any deed, provided he benefits by it.” 

Harry had not seen the Italian since the evening on which 
Mademoiselle Cora had destroyed the check, so he deter- 
mined to seek the Italian the following day, and with his aid 
arrange a mock marriage with the woman who loved and 
trusted him. 


CHAPTER XXXL 


A WILLING TOOL. 

Early the next morning Signor Rotunno, to his intense sur- 
prise, received a call from Harry Huntingford. 

The Italian had just finished his breakfast, and was busy 
writing some letters, when his visitor was announced. 

“This is a great surprise. Sir Harry, I did not expect to 
see you, especially so early in the morning.” 

“Yes, it is early for callers, but I wanted to see you on an 
important matter, therefore came early, hoping to find you dis- 
engaged.” 

“ Ah ! I shall be most happy to serve you. Will you 
smoke ?” asked Rotunno as he presented his cigar-caSe. 

Harry Huntingford took a Havana, lit it, and puffed out a 
volume of smoke. 

The Italian followed his example. 

For a moment silence reigned in the room. 

At length Rotunno said abruptly: 

“ Proceed, my friend, proceed.” 

“ Rotunno, will you pledge me your honor, your word as a 
gentleman, that this matter will be an inviolable secret be- 
tween us ?” 

Rotunno puffed away at his cigar, his hands deep in his 
trousers’ pockets, watching Harry Huhtingford with keen, 
steady eyes as Harry demanded secrecy. 

Rotunno knew that his aid was wished in some scheme that 
could not be accomplished without his assistance; but he 
determined not to betray his suspicions, so he readily answered: 

“ I will swear to keep your secret ” 

“ Can you not guess the business I desire your help in?’' 

“ I cannot, my dear boy,” replied Rotunno. 

“You are acquainted with Mademoiselle Cora?” 

“ Certainly — the dark-eyed Venus of whom so many men 
rave.” 


188 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. I89 

“Exactly, Rotunno: I’m hopelessly done for in that 
quarter/’ 

“ Knew it ages ago, . mio amico. I watched you on Monday 
night at the theater; your eyes were never off the stage for an 
instant. I knew that you had lost your heart, my dear boy. 
Of course it is all right; we will have a wedding, and you have 
come to ask me to be your best man.’’ 

“ Not exactly; I have come to you for help — ’’ 

“Help? iov whdit mio amicof I must confess I do not un- 
derstand you.’’ 

“ Everything is not all right,’’ answered Harry Huntingford, 
testily; “if it were, do you suppose I would come to you for 
help?’’ 

“ Probably not. I confess that I don’t see my part very 
clearly in this domestic drama. Is the fascinating Cora insen- 
sible to your manifold attractions, and do you want me to plead 
your cause?’’ 

“ Pshaw! that is all well enough. The girl loves me with 
her whole heart, but she would not listen to me for a moment 
if I did not propose marriage, and — ’’ 

“Well — go on,’’ exclaimed the Italian, as Harry Huntingford 
paused in some embarrassment. 

Even to this man without honor or principle, he found it 
rather awkward to make his proposition. 

“ I — Cora insists upon the nuptial knot being tied, which, of 
course, is simply preposterous. I cannot make her Lady Hunt- 
ingford — I would be the laughing-stock of every man in town — 
therefore I have come to you to help me arrange matters for a 
mock marriage.” 

“ Indeed!” ejaculated Rotunno, as he listened to the dark 
scheme. 

“ Can’t you suggest some plan?” eagerly demanded Harry 

The Italian still smoked on with an immovable air. 

“Yes,” said the latter, slowly, “I see. The thing can be 
done, but it is rathar risky. You see that I cannot play the 
parson and tie the knot. Unfortunately, la belle Cora knows 
my interesting physiognomy almost as well as she does your 
own.” 

“Of course not, but you must surely know some one who 
can take the place of the parson. You have made quite an ex- 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


190 

tensive acquaintance in London. Think if there is not one 
among them who will do the business, and believe me, I am 
willing to pay you well for your service.” 

As Harry Huntingford spoke, there shot from Francisco 
Rotunno’s eyes a wicked gleam not good to see, and over his 
thin lips dawned a faint, chill smile that never came there save 
for evil. 

Rotunno, like some of his countrymen, never forget to re- 
sent what he considered an injury. After the forged check 
had been destroyed, he felt that Harry Huntingford was no 
longer in his power, and he could no more use him as he had 
done, to decoy the victims who were intended to be fleeced. 

Rotunno also owed Cora a debt which he meant to pay 
fully, for it had been through her cleverness that the forged 
check had been destroyed. 

The opportunity had now come to gratify his revenge, and 
Rotunno meant to seize it. The gleam in his dark eyes, the 
pale smile on his cynical lips were unnoticed by his companion. 

The silence had now lasted for some time, and Harry Hunt- 
ingford’s patience was becoming exhausted. 

“ Speak out. Can’t you?” he cried with an oath. “Does 
your silence mean that you refuse to assist me?” 

“ Don’t be so impatient, mio amico. I cannot think of all 
my acquaintances in a minute. I believe I know the very man 
that you want.” 

“ Ah! do you? Why didn’t you say so sooner?” 

“Yes; a young fellow who comes to my receptions. He 
plays well — generally wins. I am told that he formerly studied 
for the ministry, but finally abandonee the idea. Now he is 
studying medicine, and lives with his uncle, the pastor of St. 
Mary’s. Now nothing would be easier for him than to admit 
you into the church, either before or after midnight, and perform 
a mock ceremony there.” 

“ In the church? Ah! that is a capital idea.” 

“ Yes, I think it is. Mademoiselle Cora will not object to a 
private marriage, for she is a paying card on the stage, and 
may want to remain there until her engagement expires. How 
soon do you want it done?” 

“ The early part of next week. Say Tuesday,” promptly 
replied Harry Huntingford. 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


I9I 

“Ah,” said Rotunno, with a covert sneer. “The proverbial 
impatience of lovers. You had better discover whether the 
lady in question will consent to a private marriage.” 

“The lady will consent — at least I believe she will, for she 
loves me, and women when^they love are willing to commit 
any act of folly. I will see her this very evening, and arrange 
it all.” 

“ And I will go and hunt up the man you want. Your own 
movements you must settle yourself.” 

“ Remember, Rotunno, the whole matter must be kept 
dark, and my name must in no way be mixed up in it. 
I am engaged to marry Lumley’s daughter, and I cannot 
afford to have a scandal. You will be rewarded hand- 
somely for your trouble. Here are a hundred pounds as an in- 
stalment; you can pay your assistant out of it, and I will hand 
you over two hundred more the day after the affair is con- 
cluded,” said the cool rascal as he handed Rutunno several 
Bank of England notes. 

“ I will see to everything, and let you know the result to- 
night,” answered the Italian, as he put the notes in his pocket. 

“Thanks, au revoir until then,” and Harry Huntingford 
took his departure. 

^ ^ ^ 
Mademoiselle Cora was engaged at the Alhambra Theater 
till the end of the season. Harry Huntingford was very well 
aware of this fact, so he urged a secret marriage until her the- 
atrical engagements should come to an end. 

At first the actress would not listen to his proposition, not 
caring to marry so hastily; but he pleaded so eloquently that 
she finally consented, for her own heart was her greatest 
enemy. 

Women seldom can resist the men whom they really love, 
and in a moment of weakness yield. 

Mademoiselle Cora knew that her manager would be indig- 
nant if she married during the run of “Joan d’ Arc.” Her 
numerous admirers would desert the theater. In fact, there was 
a clause in her contract that she should not wed during the 
continuance of it. 

Therefore, if her lover could not and would not control his 
impatience, they might have a private wedding, and a public 
one after the close of the theatrical season. 


192 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


The following Tuesday evening came all too soon for Cora. 
She was sorry that she had consented to the secret nuptials, 
for what reason she could not tell, but she felt very little like 
a bride-elect. 

It had rained all day, and she was superstitious. She did 
not like to see the rain fall on her wedding-day; she considered 
it a bad omen. 

Cora Owen would have much preferred to have seen a 
cloudless sky, and felt the warm, bright rays of the sun, in 
place of this ceaseless rain, yellow fog, and a sky the color of 
lead. 

All day she had tried to banish the heavy presentiment of 
coming disaster from her heart, but it was in vain. 

After her untasted luncheon, she lay down and fell into an 
uneasy slumber. When she awakened, it was time to dress 
and get ready for her duties at the theater. 

Harry Huntingford came and drove her to the stage-door, 
and afterward occupied his accustomed place in the box. 

During the last act he was joined by Rotunno, who in- 
formed him that all the nefarious arrangements had been com- 
pleted. 

At last the curtain descended, and Mademoiselle Cora 
received her usual recall. She bowed to her admirers, and 
made her exit with an armful of flowers. 

Cora dressed herself in her handsome street costume, and 
made her way to the stage door, where she found her lover 
impatiently awaiting her. 

Harry placed her in the carriage where Rotunno was 
already seated, and jumped in after her. 

St. Mary’s Chapel was a long way removed from the 
Alhambra Theater, and it was nearly midnight when they 
reached it. 

It was a small, dingy edifice in a small, dingy court. The 
church door was opened by an old woman who, with Signor 
Rotunno, was to witness the ceremony. A solitary lamp lit 
the dark, shadowy aisles, and by its light they saw a young 
man robed in a surplice, standing behind the chancel rails, with 
a book in his hands. 

Harry Huntingford led the actress up the aisle, and in less 
than ten minutes the surpliced young man had gabbled through 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. I93 

the ceremony and pronounced Harry Huntingford and Cora 
Owen man and wife. 

Then came signing and countersigning in a big book. A 
fee was slipped from the palm of the bridegroom to that of the 
youth in the surplice. Mademoiselle Cora received her “ mar- 
riage lines,” and then all was over. 

At the church door Harry Huntingford stopped to shake 
hands with his faithful friend and accomplice, whispering to 
him: 

“You are a trump. Believe me, I shall not forget what you 
have done for me to-night.” 

Then Harry sprung into the cab and was driven away with 
his bride. 

Signor Rotunno, with his hands in his pockets, and that 
pale, ominous smile on his lips, watched bride and bridegroom 
as they drove away; then he laughed to himself a soft, low 
laugh. 

“No, my friend, I don’t think you will forget in a hurry 
what I have done for you to-night. Mio amico^ we are even 
now. I think you and your fair lady love will not try to out- 
wit Rotunno again. I have him in my power once more, and 
he will not dare to interfere with my sister’s marriage. Let 
him do so at his peril, and he will find his match in Francisco 
Rotunno,” murmured the Italian as he walked toward a cab 
that was waiting for him, and drove home, feeling satisfied that 
he had his revenge, and that his little score is pretty clearly 
wiped out at last. 


13 


CHAPTER XXXII. 


UNMASKED. 

Madame Passo feared that Pedro Morelli might deem 
it his duty to inform Lord Landsmere of her past, therefore 
she determined not to let Morelli know of her approaching 
marriage. The signor called upon her the day she promised to 
wed her noble suitor, so she received her visitor with a cordial 
smile of welcome, which was meant to lull his suspicions. 
After a few ordinary remarks on the topics of the day, Signor 
Morelli asked: 

“ How does your suit with my old friend progress?” 

“Ah! mioamico; I was too ambitious. I have renounced 
my project.” 

“What? Do you intend to give up all idea of this mar- 
riage?” demanded Signor Morelli, in surprise. 

“ Yes; although he loves me and has offered me his hand, 
yet I have not the courage to accept that hand which was my 
whole ambition. I could not endure to live in dread of the 
fatal past that might rise up at any moment and crush me; to 
propup life each morning with a new lie that might be exposed 
before night. Oh I it is impossible — I have not the strength to 
do it.” 

“Beatrice, do you speak the truth?” asked the Italian, 
as he looked incredulously at her. 

“Yes, Pedro, you are the only one to whom I never lie,” 
answered the wily woman unblushingly. 

“And this marriage will not take place?” 

“No, I will keep my liberty. In a few days I return to 
Italy.” 

“ Are you really going?” 

“ Yes, in three or four days.” 

“Alone?” 

“ Alone with my maid,” replied Madame Passo, 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. I95 

“And Lord Landsmere is in ignorance of your intended 
departure?” 

“ Completely.” 

“ You will not tell him where you are going?” 

“Why should I? If I wished to see him I would remain in 
London. If I depart it is to break off this connection, which is 
impossible for the present and still more so for the future.” 

“Beatrice, I am glad to see that your good sense has 
counseled you to do what necessity would soon have compelled 
to be done.” 

“ Yes, my friend, I feel that I am acting right. Will you 
kindly return what letters you have of mine in your possession, 
as we may not meet again when I leave here, and I would bury 
the past.” 

“ Certainly, my dear friend. I have a large package of 
your charming and affectionate letters. I also hope to return 
to you soon the money that I owe you, as I have already saved 
a portion of it.” 

“ Pshaw! don't let that debt worry you, my good friend. I 
do not need the money,” remarked Madame Passo, generously. 

“You are very kind; I shall call with your letters to-morrow 
evening,” said Signor Morelli, as he arose to take his departure. 

“Thanks, signor; I have trusted you as I have very few of 
your sex, because I know you are a gentleman, but I shall feel 
still more satisfied when I have burnt the last evidences of my 
folly. Adieu, signor.” 

Signor Morelli bowed and left the drawing-room, but as 
soon as he found himself walking down Curzon Street he be- 
gan to think over his conversation with Beatrice Passo. He 
smiled grimly and muttered: 

“ That woman is deceiving me. She has not abandoned her 
designs on Lord Landsmere.” 

He walked a few steps further and was surprised to hear his 
name called aloud. Looking up, he saw the old nobleman 
leaning out of his carriage window and calling to the coach- 
man to draw up to the sidewalk. 

“ I am delighted to see you, signor,” said Lord Landsmere, 
cordially, as he extended his hand to Morelli. 

“ I have not met you for some weeks; you are looking well, 
my lord,” observed the Italian, as he leaned over the open car- 
riage window. 


196 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


“Yes, I feel almost young again. I will tell you a great 
secret. I am going to marry your charming countrywoman, 
Madame Passo, in a few days. We will have a private wed- 
ding, owing to the death of my favorite nephew. Sir Clement 
Huntingford, who perished in the ill-fated Lily of the Valley.” 

“Ah!” exclaimed Signor Morelli, as he now had his 
worst fears confirmed. “ My noble friend, I fear that you 
have not weighed this affair sufficiently. What do you know 
of Madame Passo’s past? ” 

“ I do not doubt the woman whom I love. She seems puri- 
ty itself — ” 

“She is a charming woman, but no fitting mate for you, my 
lord. Be advised. Do not be too hasty.” 

“ What do you mean? Speak plainly,” said Lord Lands- 
mere excitedly. 

“ I cannot, my lord. Alas 1 my lips are sealed. I am un- 
der obligations to Beatrice Passo. If I had three thousand 
pounds I could tell you. In a word, I must repay the debt 
that I owe her.” 

“You shall have a check for the amount, signor; I would 
rather give ten thousand pounds than wed a woman for whom 
I might have reason to blush.” 

“ Are you going to Madame Passo’s, my lord? ” 

“ I was going there to spend the evening, by her invitation.” 

“ Come with me first. Order your man to drive to my 
house, and I will explain matters there.” 

Signor Morelli got into the carriage, and the order was 
given to the coachman to drive to Portland Place, where the 
Italian resided. 

When the two gentlemen were seated in Signor Morelli’s 
chamber after their rapid drive, Morelli went to a desk which 
he unlocked and took out a package of letters fastened by a 
red ribbon. He handed them to Lord Landsmere, saying: 

“ Please give them to Beatrice.” 

“You are jesting. I am not. You seem astonished — I con- 
fess it; I love Madame Passo, and have asked her to become 
my wife — in a word, I believe her to be all that the Countess of 
Landsmere should be. My dear friend, you appear embar- 
assed. Pray speak out.” 

“ My lord, take my advice. Delay this marriage if there is 
yet time.” 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


197 


*‘What do you mean?” 

“ I mean, however much in love a man may be with Beatrice 
Passo, it is useless for him to marry her.” 

” I have told you that I love Beatrice. I must add that I 
respect her, for no man really loves a woman whom he cannot 
respect,” said Lord Landsmere, decidedly. 

” Oh; then we will say no more about it! I only wished to 
give you my advice as a friend. I thought it my duty to do so. 
But presto! you stop me with one of your cold, marble speeches 
peculiar to you Englishmen. We children of a summer clime 
are not used to them. Beatrice is a beautiful and talented 
woman, but, do not marry her. I will explain. My lord, do 
you like peaches?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well then, go you, some day, into a fruit store and ask for 
the best peaches. The shopman will show you a basket of 
magnificent fruit arranged regularly, slightly apart, and sepa- 
rated by leaves, that they may not touch and be corrupted by 
their contact. Ask him the price and he will perhaps say one 
shilling. Now look around you. Beside the first basket you 
will see another full of peaches like the first, only more closely 
packed together, and showing but one-half the surface. 
The fruit-seller has not offered you the basket and you say 
to him. ‘How much are these?’ ‘Sixpence.* Naturally you 
will wish to know why the fruit as large, as beautiful, as appe 
tizing as the others, is but half-price. Then the shopkeeper, 
taking up one as softly as possible, will turn it and show you 
a little black speck, the cause of its inferior price. Well, my 
lord, Beatrice Passo is a sixpenny peach.” 

“You know something against her character. You have 
been acquainted with her for years. What is there in this 
woman’s past that should prevent me from making her my 
wife? Answer me candidly,” said Lord Landsmere. 

“ Madame Passo passes for a widow. A dead husband 
is sometimes more difficult to find than a living one,” answered 
Signor Morelli, shrugging his shoulders. 

“Then, she is not a widow?” 

“ No, she has never been a wife.” 

“Are you sure?” demanded the old nobleman. 

“ I am sure. I have known her many years, and when the 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


198 

Count Passo died, she was known as Beatrice Rotunno. This, 
perhaps, I should have told you before, but I was bound to her. 
Three years ago, I owed a large sum of money — money that I 
could not repay. Creditors were pressing, and Madame Passo, 
hearing of my dilemma, generously came to my assistance. 
You, too, have been my friend in my exile, and I know" you to 
be a man of honor, and I must speak, though I hate to betray 
her.” 

Lord Landsmere sat like a man turned to stone. He was 
deathly pale and breathed heavily. It was a sad blow to him 
to find the woman whom he loved was but a living lie. 

His fond illusion had vanished like a dream, and he felt 
that he was but a poor, forlorn old man alone in the world, for 
his rank and wealth did not satisfy him. Since his nephew’s 
death he had longed for some one to sympathize with him and 
cheer his old age, and he had believed that when Beatrice Passo 
became his wife he would find peace and happiness. 

After a painful pause. Lord Landsmere took out a small 
check-book which he carried with him, and wrote out a check 
for three thousand pounds, which he handed to Signor Morelli. 

“Thanks, my lord, I shall be able to repay you within a 
few years, and I am glad to be able to cancel my debt with 
Beatrice.” 

“ Don’t mention it. May I ask you for the proofs of what 
you have told me?” demanded Lord Landsmere. 

“You hold them in your hand,” replied Morelli, as he 
pointed to the package of letters. 

As Lord Landsmere was about to open the package. Signor 
Morelli said: 

“ My lord, you forget yourself, you have no right to read 
those letters, I cannot permit it. No gentleman will show a 
lady’s letters to another. I have tried to be your friend, and 
will continue to be so as long as you desire, but I claim to be 
a man of honor.” 

“ You are right, I will not read these letters. As an English 
peer, I pledge you my word that I will hand the package to 
Beatrice unopened.” 

“Very well, my lord. In that case you can return them for 
me. I will send her a check for the amount I owe her, and 
then adieu to Madame Passo, we meet no more,” said Signor 
Morelli with a smile. 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


199 


He saw Lord Landsmere to his carriage, and with a low bow 
bade him good-evening. 

Half-an-hour later Lord Landsmere was seated in the draw- 
ing-room of Madame Passo. . Beatrice never looked more 
charming than when she entered the room in a full evening 
costume of rich black lace over crimson satin. 

Her black hair was simply drawn back from her face and 
rolled in a knot at the back of her shapely head. An arrow 
set with diamonds was passed through the coil. Diamonds 
gleamed on her ears, neck, and arms. 

She was a beautiful and fascinating woman, whose charms 
had proven fatal to the peace of mind of too many worthy men. 

Lord Landsmere’s manner was less cordial than on his last 
visit; Madame Passo noticed this, but she attributed it to some 
whim of the old gentleman. 

She thought perhaps she had offended him unwittingly. 

“ Madame, I forgot to tell you that I saw an old friend of 
yours this evening,” said Lord Landsmere, during a pause in 
the conversation. 

“Ah, my lord! I have few old friends in London,” remarked 
Madame Passo, nervously, as she felt that she was about to 
receive some unwelcome intelligence. 

“ I mean Signor Morelli. He gave me a package to give 
you,” said Lord Landsmere, taking a sealed package out of his 
pocket. 

“A package for me? Do you know what it contains? ” she 
asked in a trembling voice. 

“ Letters, I believe,” replied the old nobleman, looking at 

r sternly. 

“ Letters! whose letters? ” 

“ Why, your letters, to be sure.” 

“My letters? I don’t understand you this evening, my 
love. What do you mean? Please, give me the package. ” 

“ Forgive me, Beatrice, but I must break the seal.” 

“ Did Signor Morelli give you these letters?” 

“ I have already told you that he did.” 

Lord Landsmere broke the seal, then opened two of the let- 
ters, but he saw no signature. 

“ Do you know who wrote these letters, madame? ” 

“How should I know? There is no signature.” 


200 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


“This, then, is not your handwriting?” asked Lord Lands- 
mere, looking the surprise he felt. 

“Are you mad, my lord? Ah! did Signor Morelli say I 
wrote those letters? ” 

“ He gave me to understand that you wrote these letters." 

“ Nonsense! He must have been jesting." 

‘ On the contrary, he was never more serious." 

“ He must have been laughing at you. I have known him 
much longer than you, and I know that he is incapable of 
such baseness. Years ago he loved me, and paid me his court. 
I have thought that he did not like my idea of marrying, be- 
cause it deprived him of all hope, but that he should have 
endeavored to prevent it by such a calumny, I say again, is 
utterly impossible." 

“That we shall see. Beatrice, swear to me by all that you 
hold most sacred in your creed, that the words of Signor 
Morelli are false.” 

“An oath? Ah! I see, indeed, that this is something more 
than a mere jest. It is treachery, and from you — ” 

“ From me?" 

“Yes, I see you regret already the engagement that you 
contracted with me this morning; but, my lord, it would have 
been more simple to have frankly told me so than to have had 
recourse to such a stratagem. It does more honor to your 
ingenuity than to your delicacy." 

“ Beatrice, do you accuse me of this infamy?" 

“ And of what, then, do you accuse me? See, my lord, for 
yourself," said Madame Passo, as she hastily opened a small 
desk, and wrote a few lines. “You can compare the hand- 
writing." 

Beatrice Passo did not hear or see Signor Morelli as he en- 
tered the drawing-room. 

He listened a moment and he comprehended the situation. 

“ Compare the writing, my lord. You will see that it is not 
the same," repeated Madame Passo. 

‘ “ Signor Morelli shall answer to me for this insult. Old as 
I am, he shall learn that I am able to protect you," remarked 
Lord Landsmere indignantly. 

“ My lord," said the signor, making his presence known, “ I 
am here. I can stand face to face wiSi this woman. She never 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


201 


penned those letters, true, but her tongue dictated them. Ay, 
madame, your maid Finette has confessed all. She is at hand. 
Shall I call her in?” 

“No, no!” cried Madame Passo as she fell into a chair, 
weeping hysterically. 

“Yes, my lord, you are not the only man who, loving her, 
has too late found out that he was her dupe.” 

“ Great Heaven! can this be true? Do you not love me?” 

“ No, Englishman, I never loved you. I coveted your title 
and fortune. I should have gratified my ambition, and been 
Countess of Landsmere but for you. Signor Morelli. But 
beware of my vengeance. Till my dying hour I shall pursue 
you, for I hate and curse you!” she said with flashing eyes, 
sweeping hastily out of the room. 

Her two visitors stared each other in the face for a moment. 
They were too surprised to speak. 

“And can such fearful passions exist in so fair a form?” 
asked the old nobleman, recovering from his surprise. 

“Yes, my lord,” answered Signor Morelli, as they left the 
house together. “ Beatrice Passo has the fascination of the 
serpent which poisons while it charms. Forget her, my friend; 
she was never worthy of your regard.” 

“ I shall endeavor to do so. I no longer feel interested in 
her, for a woman who is not virtuous is not entitled to the re- 
spect of an honest man.” 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 


GIPSY George’s revenge. 

Lawyer Lumley, who had just returned from Mousehole, 
where he had been to conduct the election of one of his clients, 
who had been forced to submit to the form of re-election on 
accepting a seat in the Cabinet, was busy looking over the 
heavy mail which had accumulated during his absence. 

After reading several letters he came across the following: 

“The beak has got his claws on me and won’t listen to 
reason. I told him I was a respectable man and offered good 
bail. Mike is with me. I want your advice, so come and see 
me the minute you get this. 

“ Your friend in quod, 

“ Gipsy George.” 

“Dear me! dear me!” exclaimed Lawyer Lumley as he rcaa 
the above letter. “ This is extraordinary. Jack! Jack!” 

The faithful clerk appeared at the door of the office. 

“When did this letter come?” 

“Three days since; it was brought by a fellow who called 
himself Curly Moses. He looked very like a gallows bird.” 

. “ I dare say, I dare say,” replied his master. “ This must 

be attended to instantly. If any one calls, say I shall not 
return until to-morrow. Go and call a cab.” 

As the clerk was about to execute his master’s orders he 
retraced his steps and said: 

“ There’s a paper that Curly Moses brought which he told 
me to give to you and you’d know all about the scrape his 
friend had got into. I left it on your desk, sir.*’ 

“ Ah, here it is,” said the lawyer, taking up the paper, which 
was marked with a deep line drawn down beside one of its cen- 
ter columns, which read as follows: 

202 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


203 


“ How Moses Jacobs Was Murdered!” 

“ Seeking the Assassin.” 

“ The mysterious circumstances surrounding the death of 
Moses Jacobs, who was murdered in Fetter Lane, still remain 
unexplained, but the police are following up certain clews that 
they believe will lead to the discovery of the murderer. 

“Two experienced physicians aided the coroner in making 
the post-mortem examination, which showed that four ribs on 
one side and three on the other had been fractured. 

“This would indicate that the murderer had placed his 
knees upon the victim’s breast while he dealt the fatal blow 
upon the forehead^ which crushed the skull in. The nose was 
also broken. 

“ Marks on the hands and wrists were plainly visible, which 
the victim must have received during the struggle. It is evi- 
dent that the weapon used was a blunt instrument. 

“ One thing was settled by the examination, and that was 
the physical impossibility of Moses Jacobs having inflicted the 
injuries upon himself. 

“ He was a noted fence, and was known to have dealings 
with some of the most notorious thieves in London. He 
looked upon his trade as being quite legitimate, but was 
shrewd enough to evade the law, nevertheless. 

“ He seldom got into trouble, and when he did he employed 
the best legal advice, and managed to escape all punishment. 

“ The house in Fetter Lane is an old one with a small shop 
underneath, where Moses Jacobs dealt in second-hand clothing. 

“The crime was evidently committed by a man familiar with 
the premises. The police are on the track of a well-known 
criminal whom they suppose to be the guilty party.” 

“So Gipsy George has taken his revenge. Old Jacobs was 
right; he said the gypsy would kill him. By Jove! he will put 
an end to my earthly career if I am not careful,” muttered 
Thomas Lumley, as he got into the cab which his clerk had 
called for him'. 

He felt most uncomfortable during his ride to Newgate, for 
he knew what a queer mortal he had to deal with. 

The worthy lawyer found his old acquaintance pacing up 
and down the felons’ yard and very much in the humor of a 
caged lion or a trapped wolf. 


204 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


Bitterly did he curse his folly in having listened to Mike’s 
sneers and doubts of his courage, as he tempted him to rob 
Jacobs of a lot of diamonds which one of their pals had told 
him the Jew had purchased from himself that day, 

Gipsy George had longed to revenge himself on Moses 
Jacobs, for through the latter’s treachery George’s game with 
Lawyer Lumley had been spoiled. 

He had not intended to have an accomplice, or to take any 
one into his confidence, but, goaded on by Mike’s sneers, he 
had murdered the Jew with Mike’s assistance, and he now 
bitterly repented that he had ever listened to him, for through 
the latter’s carelessness the clew to the murderer had been dis- 
covered. 

He had dropped the cobble-stone with which the Jew had 
been killed. 

It was tied in a red silk handkerchief, and on this was 
marked the letter “G.” 

The police had worked up the clew, and traced the crime 
to Gipsy George. 

The diamonds were found on his person, and also the 
pocketbook of Moses Jacobs. 

The gipsy had threatened to kill Mike when they were 
arrested, his resentment against him was so great. The non- 
arrival of Lawyer Lumley when he had sent for him had still 
further increased his ire, and he swore that if he were hung he 
would hang in good company. 

“Ah, George!” exclaimed his visitor, extending his hand, 
“ I am very sorry to see you here.” 

“ Doubtless,” grinned the ruffian. 

“ I should have been here before, but I have been absent 
from town on business for a distinguished client.” 

“ Oh, of course; you have some excuse for leaving a pal 
alone in distress. I tell you, if I swing, you’ll swing along with 
me.” 

“Pooh, pooh!” exclaimed the lawyer, “don’t talk about 
swinging; it must be a very difficult thing indeed that I cannot 
get you through — the law has such delightful uncertainties, 
and I am so experienced. Instead of quarreling, George, let 
us converse like men who are interested in each other’s wel- 
fare. What are you here for?” 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


205 


“ Murder and robbery,” was the reply in a low tone. 

” How could you be so imprudent,” whispered Lumley 
blandly— “a man of your substance too! I am really ashamed 
of you — it was beneath your position in the world.” 

“Stupid enough!” said Gipsy George. “I could gnaw my 
heart , out when I think of it. I ought to have done the job 
alone. Mike, like a fool, left the stone and handkerchief be- 
hind him. It was a clew — the handkerchief was a peculiar 
one, and some one recognized it; a detective, I believe, who 
once visited the Horse Shoe and found a lot like it that one of 
the gang brought to old .Moses. That’s the way they got the 
scent.” ' 

“ It is an ugly piece of business, George. One thing you 
may be sure of. I will save you if I can for my own sake. Do 
not question me as to the means. As for your companion, 
Mike, I can do nothing for him — absolutely nothing.” 

“Yes, you can,” whispered George. “Hang him — hang 
him. He stung me by sneering at my courage. I should 
chuckle to see him at the gallows’ foot, even if I rode in the same 
cart with him.” 

“You must have confidence in me,” observed the lawyer. 

“ I can’t. I read the lie to your promise in your eye. I am 
sure you will deceive me, and yet like a wretch I cling to you 
as a madman clings to ^hope. I know the rope is straw, yet 
still I hold by it.” 

“ And if you are wise, you will hold tightly,” added Lumley, 
“for it is your last chance.” 

“ Humph! I suppose it is, but I tell you unless you get my 
release, I will tell all I know about you.” 

“What if you do — I am not afraid of you. You have no 
proof that I was your accomplice.” 

“ Except the child — and another which my missus will use 
if I swing.” 

“What is it?” 

“ That’s my business.” 

“ I am sorry, George, that you have put yourself into such 
an unpleasant position, and I must do my best and see what 
I can do with the jury— it is the only plan.” 

“ Can’t you bribe some of these keepers to let me escape? 
I’ll pay for it.” 


2o6 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


“ My good man, that wouldn’t work. You can never get 
out of Newgate in that way. I will do my very best for you, 
and if I fail it will not be my fault. I shall work night and day 
to save your life,” and bidding Gipsy George farewell, he drove 
back to his office. 

In spite of Lawyer Lumley’s efforts Gipsy George was con- 
demned to be hung, for the evidente was too clear to admit of 
the slightest doubt. Mike, in order to save his own life, con- 
fessed all. It was well for him that his comrade was con- 
demned to die a felon’s death. He would have strangled him 
in the court-room if he had not been handcuffed. Mike shiv- 
ere^d as he caught the fire of intense hate that beamed from the 
gipsy’s eyes. He was almost glad that he had been sentenced 
for ten years, for he dreaded that some of George’s friends 
would avenge him. 

Lawyer Lumley was not surprised that his efforts to save 
the criminal’s life failed. On the morning that Gipsy George 
was hung, he felt very much relieved. He no longer feared 
the exposure of the secrets that the felon had had in his keep 
ing. They died with him in spite of all his threats to the con- 
trary. He did not expose the lawyer who, he felt, had exerted 
himself greatly in his behalf, therefore his lips were sealed, 
Like all of his ilk, he was loyal to those who served him. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 


RESTITUTION. 

Immediately after the death of her “ dear lamb,” as Sally 
George poetically designated her late husband, the disconso- 
late widow resolved to put temptation out of her way, and 
remove from the Horse Shoe Inn, which, with her usual shrewd- 
ness, she disposed of for a considerable sum just as it stood. 
She then moved to a cottage that she had purchased in Bishop’s 
Walk, Lambeth. 

Sally George had never been a mother, but with the instincts 
of her sex, which generally has some maternal impulses, she 
loved the helpless infant that her husband had rescued and 
given into her care, 

Twenty times a night would she steal from the bar, leaving 
her girl to attend to the customers — something she had never 
been known to do before — to watch the little one in her bed, 
and then return with a smiling face to draw beer for the motley 
crew of unfortunate beings who thronged her well-known bar. 

It was generally observed that the moment of her retur^i 
from one of these hurried visits was the best time for an old 
customer who was hard up to ask for credit, as she seldom 
refused it on such occasions. 

When Gypsy George’s widow removed to Bishop’s Walk, 
she devoted herself to the little waif with all a mother’s tender- 
ness. 

Poor Clara Richards’ child was Sally George’s idol. 

She never tired of admiring the golden hair which fell 
around the little girl’s temples in soft curls. Her large blue 
eyes had a sad expression in them in spite of her tender years. 
Her features were very regular, and she resembled the Hunt- 
ingford family in a remarkable manner. 

The child’s life was really a very happy one since the re- 
moval to the cottage, for she had pure air and proper care. 


208 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


Six months after her husband’s death Sally George caught 
a severe cold and neglected it, until a sharp inflammation of 
the lungs set in. 

Then her servant hastily summoned a physician, but not- 
withstanding all his efforts she gradually grew worse. 

Finding that she was dying, she made up her mind to con- 
sign her darling to the care of her grandfather; so she sent a 
telegram to Peter Richards, Sutton, Siirrey, begging him to 
come to her without delay. 

Farmer Richards was astonished when he received the mes- 
sage, but immediately started for London. When he arrived 
at the cottage, he was shown into the dying woman’s presence. 

“ I am glad you have come,” murmured the expiring 
creature hoarsely; “ while I lived I could never have parted 
with my pet, but as the croaks are on me, you had better have 
her — but not till I am dead,” she added convulsively. “Not till 
I am dead — you won’t have to wait very long — I am half gone 
already — you will be kind to her?” 

“ Kind to her,” ejaculated Farmer Richards, in surprise. “ I 
will love her for her poor mother’s sake. I have tried in vain 
to find her. My missus and I had given her up for dead. Why, 
I advertised in all the papers for news of my poor Clara’s 
child.” 

“I never saw the advertisements,” said Sally George faintly, 
“ even if I had, I would not have answered them, for I loved 
the little one too well to have parted with her.” 

“ How do know my good woman, that this child is really my 
grandchild?” asked Peter Richards. 

Sally George reached her hand under the pile of pillows on 
which she was supported, and drew out a small bag, which she 
handed to the old man, who was sitting beside her bed. 

“The night that my husband brought home the kid, which 
he found on a bench in St. James’ Park exposed to the storm, 
the poor child was wet through and almost dead when he gave 
her to me, but I brought her round, and in three months’ time 
she was a big, healthy child. One day my husband gave me 
that bag, saying: 

‘ I have only given Lawyer Lumlcy a copy of the paper. 
You may want this some day, Sally, if you outlive me< to find 
the baby’s people.’ 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


209 


“ I found out where you lived myself from the pot-boy at 
the Crown and Bear, where you stopped when you came to 
bring home your daughter’s body.” 

The sick woman was obliged to pause. She could not con- 
verse but with great difficulty. The nurse who was attending 
her wet her lips with some vivifying cordial. 

Peter Richards opened the bag and found it contained his 
daughter’s marriage-certificate. His hand shook as he read it. 

“ Do you know the man who left your daughter to die like 
a dog?” exclaimed the dying woman, gazing on the man’s 
agitated countenance. 

“ I do,” faintly angered her visitor, for he was almost 
choked with surprise and emotion at the discovery of the heart- 
less cruelty of the man who had let his brother go into exile 
for his sin, and who had abandoned his offspring to perish 
miserably. 

Peter Richards imagined that it was Harry Huntingford, not 
the lawyer, who had left the child in the park. 

“ Don’t let that man ever have the baby,” cried Sally George. 

“ Never! he shall never see her if I can prevent it. The 
heartless villain! I wouldn’t trust a dog in his care.” 

“ Lizzie, bring the child here, I want to bid her good-bye.” 

Peter Richards started back in astonishment when he saw 
his daughter’s child. 

“ She is a true Huntingford. They can’t deny her,” he 
muttered. “ Nature has stamped their likeness on her face. 
Thank Heaven! I can clear your mother’s fame, child,” he 
said, as he kissed the little girl, who broke away from him and 
stretched out her arms to the dying woman to take her. 

“ She loves her old nurse,” sobbed Sally, kissing the little 
one. “God never made me the mother of a child, but perhaps 
I didn’t deserve to be one. He sent me this little creature to 
console me.” She fixed her eyes with a painful, anxious expres- 
sion on the child. “You won’t let her forget the old woman 
who loved her like her own kid.” 

“No, no; I won’t,” answered Peter Richards, brushing the 
tears from his eyes. 

The affectionate little girl repeatedly kissed the dying 
woman, as she lisped: 

“ Me love you.” 


14 


210 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


“ Oh, my darling!” cried poor Sally. “ I almost wish I 
could take you with me. It breaks my heart to part with you.” 

“Don’t excite yourself, my good woman. My grand- 
daughter will have an excellent home and the best of care. 
My wife and I will love her dearly, for we both worshiped her 
poor mother. Don’t think about her future, but your own soul. 
Remember, you are about to meet your God.” 

“Oh, sir! I fear I don’t stand much chance in the next world. 
My life has been none too good,” faintly answered Sally George. 

“Try to prepare yourself for the great change which is 
about to take place. Remember, our good Lord died for sin- 
ners and not saints,” said the pious old farmer, as he knelt 
down and prayed fervently for the unfortunate woman who was 
rapidly sinking. 

Let us not dwell too long upon a painful scene. Sally ral- 
lied for a brief moment when she handed a large sealed pack- 
age to Peter Richards. ^ 

She breathed her last at sunset, murmuring the name of her 
little darling. 

On opening the package the farmer found '^it contained the 
dead woman’s will. In it she left an annuity of fifty pounds a 
year to her servant Lizzie, also the furniture and cottage; and 
the rest of her property, amounting to no less a sum than five 
thousand pounds, to her pet. Farmer Richards resolved that 
this money should remain in the funds where Sally George had 
prudently placed it, until his granddaughter was of age, when, 
if he still lived, he would tell her the history of the legacy. 
He resolved to influence her to devote the entire sum to char- 
ity, for he felt that it was the produce of a life of crime. 

The night that the gypsy’s widow died. Farmer Richards 
removed his granddaughter to Sutton, where she was fondly 
welcomed by his wife, who was almost beside herself with joy 
as she beheld her beloved Clara’s child. 

The next morning Peter Richards was again in London, and 
made all the arrangements for Sally George’s funeral, which 
was a very quiet, respectable affair. 

Her remains were followed to the grave by Farmer Richards 
and her faithful servant, who had been very much attached to 
her eccentric mistress, and honestly mourned her demise. 

When this sad duty was performed, Peter Richards returned 


rOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


2II 


to Sutton, with the firm determination to oppose Harry Hunt- 
ingford, and to clear his daughter’s fame in the eyes of his 
friends and neighbors. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 


MISS HUNTINGFORD HEARS THE TRUTH. 

In Spite of the predictions of her physicians, Miss Hunting- 
ford was recovering slowly from the severe illness from which 
she had suffered ever since she had received the tidings of the 
wreck of the Lily of the Valley. The supposed death of Sir 
Clement was a severe blow to his aunt, who loved him devot- 
edly. 

The shock had nearly killed her; but owing to an excellent 
constitution, she was now rapidly becoming convalescent. 

For some little time she had been able to sit up and enjoy 
the beautiful view from her sitting-room at Sutton. 

The two old friends, Mrs. Blythe and she, were sitting to- 
gether one afternoon in Miss Huntingford’s sitting room, when 
Farmer Richards called and sent up word by the footman that 
he desired to see Miss Huntingford on some very important 
private business. The old lady ordered her servant to show 
the farmer up. 

When Peter Richards entered the room, he was shocked to 
see the change which illness and grief had wrought in the 
kind old lady’s face. 

“ I was very sorry to hear of your illness. Miss Hunting- 
ford,” said Peter Richards. “ I hope your ladyship will soon 
recover.” 

“ I hope so, my good friend. I must try to live and fill my 
mission in life, if it is the will of our Heavenly Father to 
spare me, though life holds but few charms for me since my 
nephew’s sad death.” 

“ I am more than sorry for Sir Clement,” answered the old 
farmer, “ for I wronged him once greatly in my thoughts.” 

“Indeed!” exclaimed Miss Huntingford, looking at the 
farmer in surprise. 

Peter Richards did not speak for a few moments. He evi- 

212 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


213 


dently desired to be alone with Miss Huntingford, and Mrs. 
Blythe was about to retire from the room, when her friend 
bade her remain. 

“ I have no secrets from Mrs. Blythe, Mr. Richards,” added 
the old lady, smilingly. 

“ Do you remember the morning that I called upon your 
brother some years ago and demanded justice for my poor 
girl?” questioned the farmer. 

“I have excellent reasons to remember that morning, my 
good sir. You accusedan innocent man of doing you a wrong !” 
answered Miss Huntingford severely. 

“You are right, my dear lady. I was guilty of doing your 
nephew a great injustice. He was innocent.” 

“ I know it. Poor Clement declared that he was not guilty 
the day that he bade me good-bye and left Sutton forever. He 
went into exile, for he felt that he had been wronged. My 
poor boy!” exclamed Miss Huntingford, as the tears rained 
down her cheeks. 

“ His brother was the guilty one, as this paper proves,” said 
Farmer Richards, handing his daughter’s marriage certificate 
to Miss Huntingford. “ He left my poor girl to die like a dog. 
She was murdered, as you know. She did not die naturally, 
as I learned all the facts when I visited London to bring back 
her remains. Her child was stolen.” 

“ My dear sir, you shock me!” exclaimed Miss Huntingford. 

“Yes, your ladyship. The unnatural father left the baby 
in St. James’ Park on a bench exposed to all the fury of a ter- 
rible rain storm.” 

“ Can it be possible that Harry Huntingford is such a vil- 
lain?” asked Mrs. Blythe, who was both surprised and shocked 
by what she had heard. 

“ A greater scoundrel does not exist,” replied Farmer 
Richards. 

“ Did your grandchild die?” asked Miss Huntingford. 

“No; Providence saved the child’s life, and now I have the 
little one in my possession. The man who found the baby in 
the park is dead. His wife, who nursed her, died a few days 
ago. She sent for me before her death, and gave me my grand- 
daughter, also that paper. You must let me bring poor Clara’s 
child to see you some day, my lady. You will see that she is 
every inch a Huntingford,” said the old man proudly. 


4 


214 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


“Her future shall be my care,” said Miss Huntingford. 

“ Thank you ma’am, for your kindness, but while I have a 
crust to eat or a roof to cover me, my granddaughter shall 
have them with me. I have not come here to demand any 
recognition of the child’s rights, but to do a simple act of jus- 
tice,” said Peter Richards earnestly. 

“ I thank you in Clement Huntingford’s name. Had he 
lived he would have felt gratified to hear you acknowledge 
that you had done him an act of injustice. He was a martyr, 
for he suffered for his brother’s sin.” 

“ So he did, ma’am, but the world will know the truth to- 
morrow. My daughter’s fame shall be cleared from any blot 
that may rest upon it. I have sent a notice of her marriage, to 
be published in all the principal London papers.” 

“You did right, Mr. Richards,”said Miss Huntingford. 

“ I am glad to hear you say that, for I thought you might 
not be pleased at my making matters so public. I hope you 
will continue to improve in health. Miss Huntingford,” and 
with a low bow. Farmer Richards departed from Miss Hunt- 
ingford’s presence. 

When the two ladies found themselves alone, Mrs. Blythe 
turned to her friend and said: 

“ How your nephew, Sir Clement Huntingford, must have 
suffered for his brother’s crime.” 

“ Ah, my friend, you do not know now noble Clement was, 
and how deeply he felt his father’s injustice.” 

“ I can imagine nothing more mortifying to a noble mind 
than to be unjustly accused of another’s crime,” remarked 
Mrs. Blythe, as she bade her friend good-afternoon. 

That evening, while Mary Blythe and her mother sat down 
to enjoy a sociable chat, the old lady told her daughter of 
Farmer Richard’s visit, and of the discovery of Harry Hunting- 
ford’s legal marriage to Clara Richards. 

“ I always felt that time would prove Sir Clement’s inno- 
cence," exclaimed Mary, as a deep blush dyed her cheeks, and 
the tears stood in her eyes. 

“ It is a pity that Sir Clement did not live to know that truth 
has triumphed, and his name is cleared of the false accusation 
under which he suffered so much.” 

Mary kept her counsel. She felt that the opportunity had 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


215 


not yet arrived to tell her mother that Charles Hartley, who 
saved her life, and Sir Clement Huntingford was the same per- 
son. 

That evening she received a telegraphic dispatch from 
William Thompson, the detective. It informed her that he had 
discovered the whereabouts of Sir Clement Huntingford, and 
asked her to come to London without delay. 

Mary Blythe left Sutton early the next day for the 
metropolis, where the detective was anxiously awaiting her 
presence. 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

BEFORE THE WEDDING. 

The announcement of Sir Harry Huntingford’s marriage to 
Clara Richards caused a great sensation, especially as the an^ 
nouncement was immediately followed by the notice of her 
death. 

Lawyer Lumley was indignant when he read the notice. 

It was beyond his understanding how such an item could 
have been published, especially as he held the certificate in his 
possession. 

What made his indignation greater was the fact that not 
only would Harry Huntingford’s first marriage be known 
and commented upon, but that the notice of the death 
of Harry’s wife should be announced in the same journal and 
at the same time. 

He went to Morley’s hotel, and took the morning’s papers 
with him. 

As soon as he saw Harry Huntingford the lawyer knew by 
his manner that he had not as yet seen the notices. 

“ Have you looked at the morning papers yet?” asked the 
lawyer. 

“No; I have just finished my breakfast. I have not even 
read my mail yet,” replied Harry Huntingford. 

“Humph!” exclaimed Lumley, as he passed the Times to his 
young friend, and showed him two marked notices; “ perhaps 
you will be interested in those two pieces of information.” 

Harry Huntingford read the announcement of his marriage 
and saw that it was dated correctly. 

He was very much surprised and annoyed. 

“ I thought you had the certificate!” he exclaimed, as his 
face flushed hotly. 

“Yes, here it is,” answered Lumley, laying it on the table. 

“Then, in Heaven’s name, who could have inserted the 
exact date of my marriage, which took place three years ago?” 
asked the noble young gentleman, in surprise. 

216 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


217 


“ I cannot imagine unless her father has done so, for you 
see there is the announcement of her death in the same paper.” 

“ By Jove! old Richards must have discovered the truth 
and done this to clear his daughter’s name from all unjust sus- 
picions. Our middle classes, you know, have such an over- 
whelming respect for virtue,” answered the unfeeling scoundrel. 

” I am very sorry that this matter has been made public,” 
dryly observed the lawyer. 

” So am I. By Jove! It will be very disagreeable. I shall 
be the talk of all the clubs and drawing-rooms in London,” 
said the young swell. 

” There is only one way to hush up this scandal. Issue 
cards for your wedding with my daughter at once. We must 
celebrate the marriage in the most sumptuous fashion; then 
your friends will not care to inquire too closely into your first 
marriage.” 

“You are right, Lumley. I will take your advice, and will 
announce my marriage for the twentieth — that is, if that date 
will suit Miss Lumley.” 

“ You had better go and see my daughter at once, so as to 
arrange matters,” said the lawyer, as he bowed and bade his 
future son-in-law good-morning. 

Three days afterward Harry Huntingford’s friends received 
cards for the wedding. 

Maud Lumley was delighted. She was going to wed the 
man whom she loved, and she felt that she would soon win his 
love in return after becoming his wife. 

The preparations for the wedding were almost completed, 
yet Sir Harry Huntingford had not dared to tell Mademoiselle 
Cora the truth. He was afraid that she might hear of his ap- 
proaching marriage in some way, or read of it in some society 
journal. 

He called upon Signor Rotunno, and asked him to go and 
tell the actress the truth; but to his intense surprise, the Italian 
refused to act as his embassador. 

He told Harry Huntingford that when it would be nec- 
essary to prove the truth of his assertions he — the Italian — 
would be ready to oblige him. 

Then in this dilemma. Sir Harry Huntingford sought Jack 
Lawrence and offered him twenty pounds if he would go and 
see Mademoiselle Cora, and break the news to her. 


2I8 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


Jack Lawrence undertook the nice commission, and Harry 
Huntingford felt much relieved. 

Jack waited for the Sunday before the day set for the wed- 
ding, as he knew that the actress would be at home on that 
day. Mademoiselle Cora was quietly reading a recently pub- 
lished poem when the lawyer’s clerk was ushered into her 
drawing-room. 

The actress arose, politely saying: 

“ I have not the pleasure of your acquaintance, sir.” 

“ I was sent by Sir Harry Huntingford, madame, on an 
affair of some importance to you,” said the clerk, producing a 
letter from his pocket which he handed to Cora. 

She hastily broke the seal, as she had not heard from or 
seen her husband for several days, and she was very anxious to 
read his note. 

” My dear young lady, you had better not read that letter 
until you hear what I have to say, I have come on a very 
hard and embarrassing errand.” 

Something in the man’s face, in his manner even more than 
in his words, made her look quickly up. To his dying day 
Jack Lawrence never forgot the hunted, terrified look in those 
great dilating dark eyes. She laid her hand on her fast beat- 
ing heart and spoke with some effort. 

” He is ill — dead? — what is it?” she gasped. 

” He is well enough, but it would be better for you, my 
dear lady, if he were dead.” 

“ Sir?” she cried, the light leaping to her eyes, the flush 
to her face. ” How dare you? He is my husband — how dare 
you say such a thing to me?” 

” He is not your husband.” 

The low, even, monotonous voice spoke the dreadful words. 
The small, light, glimmering eyes were fixed immovably upon 
her with a look half-contemptuous, half-compassionate in their 
depths. 

She rose slowly to her feet and stood blankly staring at the 
man before her. Was he an escaped lunatic? 

” Not my hus — ” she paused irresolutely. Should she run 
away from this madman or stand her ground? “ Give me my 
letter again,” she said angrily; ” I have nothing more to say to 
you.” 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 2ig 

“ Because I tell you that Sir Harry Huntingford is not your 
husband? My dear madame, it is true.” 

Jack Lawrence’s tone was solemn, and his face full of com- 
passion. He was thinking what a grand woman she was, and 
what there could be about this young swell that women should 
give up all that made their lives most dear for his sake. 

“ I have told you, my dear lady,” continued he, “ that I have 
been sent here on a hard and painful errand. Conscience makes 
cowards of us all! He is a coward as well as a villain. He 
had not the courage to face you himself. You have been 
watching and waiting for Sir Harry Huntingford. Watch and 
wait no longer. He will not come.” 

A cry broke from her lips — a cry that rang in his ears for 
months after — a cry not loud, but exceedingly bitter. 

“In Heaven’s name speak, speak, and tell me what you 
know!” 

“ That you are not a wife. Sir Harry Huntingford never 
married you. From the first he deceived and betrayed you, 
and now he has deserted you forever. He has given me the 
task to tell you this. I am a bad lot myself, but I am not a 
coward to deceive a woman and then not have the courage to 
face her. I am but a poor diplomat, as they call it, to break 
bad news to any one, so I blurt out the truth at once. After 
all it is the same in the end.” 

A great stillness had fallen upon her— her eyes were strained 
and fixed upon his face. 

“ Go on,” she said, her teeth set hard. 

“ A mockery of marriage was gone through with. A doctor 
was hired to impersonate the clergyman.” 

Cora Owen listened, her hand still pressing her heart as if a 
spasm of uncontrollable pain was darting through it. 

“ Go on,” she said again. 

“There’s not much more to tell. You now know why he 
urged you to keep the marriage secret. He was afraid that it 
might reach the ears of Maud Lumley. He has. been publicly 
engaged to be married to her for the last two years.” 

With all the color stricken from her face — still dumb, white, 
tearless and rigid she had been standing in her awful despair. 
But at these last words she came back suddenly as if from the 
dead. 


220 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


“ My curse on him — my curse follow him through life!" she 
hoarsely cried. 

The man before her actually recoiled. She had uplifted one 
arm. She stood before him one brief moment, white and ter- 
rible. Then she recovered her self-possession, and tore open 
the note. 

Only half a dozen brief lines — the tragedies of life are ever 
quickly written: 

“ Believe all that Jack Lawrence tells you. I have been the 
greatest scoundrel on earth to you Cora. Forgive me if you 
can." 

“H. H.’ 

No more. She looked up. So this was the letter that she 
had looked for, longed for. This was the man for whom she 
had given up all her other admirers. Was the world made up 
of such villains? She put her hand to her head in a dazed sort 
of way. 

“You are not offended with me, my dear lady? Sir Harry 
was afraid to write all that I have told you; it would be too 
damaging a confession to put on paper, so he sent me. You 
are not angry at the manner in which I carried out my instruc- 
tions?” 

“Angry with you? Oh, no — why should I be? My head 
feels strangely — dizzy. I don’t — want to hear — any more to- 
day — please excuse me." 

She turned slowly. 

He was about to leave the room, but stopped and looked 
anxiously at her. 

She had walked some two or three yards, then suddenly — 
without a warning word or sound — she fell heavily face down- 
ward, like a stone. 


CHAPTER XXXVII 


MAUD LUMLEY’s WEDDING-DAY. 

The sun arose clear and bright on the morning that the 
lawyer’s daughter was to be married to the man she loved so 
intensely. 

The preparations for the wedding were all complete. 
There had been a slight dispute between Lawyer Lumley and 
Sir Harry Huntingford. The latter wished to have the cere- 
mony performed quietly and away from London. Thomas 
Lumley insisted that the marriage should be celebrated at St. 
George’s, Hanover Square. 

“ Let us distinctly understand each other,” said he. “ My 
daughter is bringing you a fortune that might be the dower 
of a princess, and she must be treated with due respect. I 
will not have one detail omitted, and the marriage must be 
conducted in the same manner as it would be if you were es- 
pousing a lady of your own rank.” 

Harry Huntingford laughed. He well knew that there was 
no opposing such a decree; it must be complied with, so he de- 
termined to make the best of it. 

He asked his cousin. Lord Henry Rochfort, to act as 
best man. 

A small but select party of guests were invited. Nothing 
was omitted. 

For many days the great world had been on the qui vive 
about this same marriage. 

The wedding-robe and all the other costumes had been fur- 
nished by Worth. 

The wedding-breakfast was all prepared; the trunks con- 
taining the magnificent trousseau were packed and corded — 
even the labels were already addressed: “ Lady Huntingford, 
Paris,” the baronet having decided on spending the so-called 
honeymoon there* every detail of the whole performance was 
now arranged. 


221 


222 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


Maud Lumley stood dressed in the midst of the bridesmaids, 
holding her lover’s bouquet in her hand. 

A bevy of fair girls were chatting around her when her 
maid entered and informed her that a lady wished to see her 
on important business. 

“Tell her to excuse me, Annie. This is my wedding-day, 
and I don’t care for seeing anyone just now.” 

“But she told me to tell you, miss, that you would be very 
sorry if you did not receive her.” 

“Well, show her into my boudoir, Annie,” said the bride, 
as she asked her young friends to excuse her, then passed into 
the adjoining room to receive her strange guest. 

As the door opened to admit the visitor, Maud Lumley 
started, for she remembered the commanding presence and 
beautiful features of Mademoiselle Cora. Maud Lumley re- 
covered herself. 

Although intensely curious as to the purpose of this visitor, 
she was outwardly calm and quietly courteous. The lawyer’s 
daughter seated herself at a distance, near one of the windows, 
and glanced at her watch as a hint to be brief. Mademoiselle 
Cora was quick to take the hint. 

“ I shall not detain you long,” she said. “ May I ask if you 
have seen Sir Harry Huntingford this morning?” 

Maud’s heart gave one great leap. It is something about 
her intended husband. 

Her beautiful, fair face flushes hotly, and she has to pause 
a second before she can quite steady her voice. 

“And may I ask,” she says haughtily, “ in what way that 
concerns you? ” 

“ It concerns me much more than you think,” the actress 
answered. “ You will hear presently. Have you seen Sir 
Harry Huntingford this morning?” 

The blood rushes in a torrent to Maud Lumley’s face, even 
to her temples. She said: 

“You frighten me — I don’t know what you mean.” 

“I am sure you don’t. I am sorry to inflict pain on you, for 
I have suffered such misery that few women can endure and 
still live. I saw you one night in a box at the theater. You 
were with him. I asked him then who you were, and he answered, 
‘Only a lady friend.’ I see by your dress that he uttered a 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


223 


falsehood. You look both good and brave, and as I care but 
very little for the opinion of the world, I have come here to 
save you." 


" Save me ! " muttered Maud, as she put her hand up to 
her head. 

Her face was now the color of her robe. 

"Miss Lumley, are you going to faint?" asked the actress, 
haJf rising. 

“Wait," said the young girl almost in a whisper. “You have 
frightened me. I am all right again. Now you may go on. 
Tell me the worst as quickly as possible." Unhappy Maud 
clinched her hands together, and set her teeth. “Go on,” she 
said almost fiercely, and looked Cora full in the face. 

“You are going to be married to Sir Harry Huntingford to- 
day?” 

“I am." 

“You know that he was a widower?" 

“Certainly. He was married before to Clara Richards, the 
daughter of one of his tenant farmers. He told me so. My 
father knew all about it long before it was made public." 

“ I am sorry for your sake that Harry Huntingford was not 
equally as candid about the rest of his private affairs. He is 
not a widower. Miss Lumley, I am the unhappy wife of this 
man who engaged himself to marry you this day." 

“No, no! anything but that! Harry may not be a good man, 
but don’t tell me that he would commit a crime. I cannot 
believe it." 

“Yes, Miss Lumley, it is true. I am Harry Huntingford’s 
unhappy wife.” 

There is a moment’s silence. Maud Lumley sits like a 
woman turned into marble, white and cold. 

“ I am sorry to pain you. More sorry than you can under- 
stand. I have neither slept nor eaten since the hour that I 
discovered the man whom I loved better than my own honor 
had only gratified a passing fancy when he married me. If he 
were dead I could weep for him, but to live to find out that he 
was a scoundrel, to know that the idol I worshiped was un- 
worthy, is more than I can bear. Oh, merciful Heaven! how 
can I live and suffer day after day as I am suffering?” 

A pang like a red hot knife went through Maud Lumley’s 
heart. 


224 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


She lifted her blue eyes to the dark ones of her rival, but 
not a word escaped her lips. 

“ All the evil Harry Huntingford could do, he has done. I 
have loved, and now I cannot hate, for I gave him the best, 
the truest love of my heart. He casts me off with scorn. He 
sought me. I did not seek him. Though I am an actress, I 
have kept my reputation pure, and no man can boast of hav- 
ing received any favors from me. I will tell you a portion of 
my life — then you will understand what a girl who has been 
thrown on the world to starve and die, means when she says 
that she is a good woman. She deserves some credit for re- 
sisting temptation. About my fourteenth year my father took 
my little brother with him and went to the diamond-fields to 
seek his fortune, leaving me with a dressmaker, who had 
promised to teach me her trade and take care of me. Heaven 
help any poor motherless girl left to the tender mercies of a 
woman who has no heart. Mrs. Hopson may have been a very 
good woman after her own light, but she did not understand 
me. She looked upon me as a small slave who was given to 
her to work for her. To shorten a long story, after my father 
left for Africa, she made my life unendurable; so much so 
that I ran away. I tried to obtain employment, but could 
not succeed. I sold matches, swept the mud off the streets, 
and so managed to purchase the crust that was necessary 
for my existence. One day on Regent Street, while I was 
sweeping the gutter, a gentleman dropped some pennies into 
my hand and passed on. The next morning he again 
crossed the street, and looked at me critically as he gave 
me some more pennies. Then he spoke to me: ‘Little 
girl, do you want something to do?’ I answered that I 
would be glad to obtain an honest business. He gave me 
his card. I called on him the next day. 

“ He introduced me to his wife, saying, ‘ Sallie, I have 
brought you a pupil.’ They were circus people, and had the 
kindest hearts I ever met. In a month I could ride the wildest 
horse in the show; in three months I made my <3^^toandwas a 
success. I paid the honest couple who rescued me from my 
miserable life as far as money could pay them, but while I live 
I owe them a great debt of gratitude.” 

And the dark eyes of the actress filled with tears as she 
thought of the past. 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


225 


“ I was ambitious, and studied hard; finally, I was able to 
gratify the strongest aspiration of my life, and became an 
actress. A year ago I aj)peared as Joan d’Arc, and as the Maid 
of Orleans I made what is called a hit. Society courted me. 
I enjoyed my success, and could have married advantageously. 
Men of rank sought my favor, but I turned a deaf ear to all 
until I met Sir Harry Huntingford. He won my heart. At first 
^ tried to resist th: fascination of his presence; in vain; it was 
fate — I loved nim. He plead with me to become his wife — to 
marry him secretly. In a moment of madness I consented. We 
were married, and I was happy in my fool’s paradise until yes- 
terday, when he sent a messenger to inform me that I was not 
really his wife, but that he had* merely gone through a mock 
marriage.” 

Mademoiselle Cora saw in the blue eyes looking at her noth- 
ing but an infinite pity. She continued: 

“ I believed that I was a ruined, forsaken woman, and all that 
night I lay like a stricken creature until this morning. Then I 
came to myself, arose, and went to see the man who was a witness 
at my marriage. I showed him the note I had received. He 
read it, laughed, and told me that I was Harry Huntingford’s 
legal wife. This gentleman is now closeted with your father, 
who by this time knows the truth. I am sorry for you, because 
you look good and gentle, and deserve to be happy — yes, I am 
sorry for you.” 

Maud Lumley looked at Mademoiselle Cora with a dull sort 
of torpor stealing over her heart. 

She could not speak. 

As the actress was about to leave the room, the door opened 
and Lawyer Lumley and Signor Rotunno entered. The ambi- 
tious parent looked at the two women, and then he said, in a 
voice that trembled with emotion; 

“ Maud, my child, I see you know all; thank Heaven; you 
have learned the truth in time.” 

At this juncture. Sir Harry Huntingford made his appear- 
ance. He was in full evening dress, and wore the air of a 
bridegroom. He started when he saw Mademoiselle Cora and 
the signor. 

The Italian smiled as he said, with easy familiarity: 

“ Ah, mw amico! You did not expect to -see me did you?” 


15 


226 


FOR LOVE OE GOLD. 


“ I must confess that I did not, as I omitted sending you a 
card inviting you to my wedding!” replied Sir Harry Hunt- 
ingford, a scowl darkening his handsome countenance. 

“ That was not very kind after all my friendship, but as I 
object to see a respectable family disgraced, I came without an 
invitation.” 

“ What do you mean ?” asked Sir Harry Huntingford, abruptly. 

“ That Mademoiselle Cora is your lawful wife.” 

“What!” cried the astonished man. 

Signor Rotunno looked at him with an exulting smile as he 
said: 

“ You thought that I would be your catspaw, do your dirty 
work to oblige you. That was your mistake. There stands 
your lawful wife, she is Lady Huntingford. My words can be 
proved if you desire.” 

The discovered villain was about to speak, when Maud 
Lumley arose, looked at him a moment, then staggered — her 
father caught her as she was about to fall. 

A dark, crimson stream flowed from her mouth and dyed 
the snowy white of her bridal robes. 

Mademoiselle Cora cried out: 

“ Run for a physician at once!” 

The unhappy father carried his daughter into her chamber 
and laid her on her bed; the bridesmaids gathering around her 
in horrified surprise at the blood still flowing from her mouth. 

The doctor arrived and tried to stop the hemorrhage, but in 
vain. Maud Lumley was fast passing away. 

The shock had been too great for her delicate frame to bear. 

That night she died, a victim to her father’s ambition, and 
of her passionate love for an unprincipled man. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 


VISIT TO THE COMMISSIONER. 

Sir Clement Huntingford, after his brother’s visit to Rose 
Villa Retreat, felt that he could not expect any mercy from 
him. 

The poor fellow realized that he had fallen into unprincipled 
hands, and they would endeavor to keep him a prisoner for life. 

The doctors of the asylum seeing that he had resigned him- 
self to his fate, relaxed their strict discipline, and tried to make 
their prisoner more comfortable. 

They allowed him to select books from their library, and 
sent him the daily newspapers. 

The books proved a real solace to the unfortunate man. 

His days were no longer miserable, as in a measure he 
could forget his surroundings while reading. 

He was also now allowed a daily walk in the grounds for 
exercise. 

His health and spirits improved, and he waited patiently 
for Providence to release him from his enforced exile from the 
.world. 

One day as he was pacing up and down the grounds, es- 
corted by a keeper, he heard the bell at the entrance gate ring, 
and saw the face of Ned Owen through the bars, and heard him 
ask “ if he could see Sir Clement Huntingford.” 

The keeper laughed and told him that no such person was 
in the asylnm. 

This was too much for Sir Clement’s patience. He rushed 
to the gate, but the keeper forced him back, and he was 
1 marched to his room by force. 

^ For several days after he was closely confined and not per- 
mitted to walk in the grounds. 

But the unhappy man was somewhat comforted by 
the thought that Ned Owen had discovered his place of con- 
finement. 


227 


/ 


228 FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 

Clement now knew that his friends were trying to obtain 
his release. 

His surmises were correct, for the detective whom Mary 
Blythe had employed to find her lover, was doing his best to 
bring about that issue. 

After Ned Owen’s failure to obtain an interview with his 
friend, the detective determined by some means to obtain an 
interview with Sir Clement Huntingford himself. 

He anxiously awaited the arrival of Mary Blythe, and went 
to the station to meet her. 

As she stepped from the train, Mary was surprised to see 
William Thompson awaiting her on the platform. 

“What has happened?” asked she, breathlessly. 

“ Nothing very particular, my dear young lady. I have dis- 
covered that Sir Clement Huntingford is confined in a private 
lunatic asylum, known as Rose Villa Retreat. I sent Mr. Owen 
there yesterday, but they denied that Sir Clement was there, 
though the young man says he saw him rush at the gate and 
then borne off by the keepers. I want you to go and see the 
commissioners, and urge them to visit the asylum and inquire 
into the case.” 

“ Do you think we can oblige these people to release Sir 
Clement?” asked Mary Blythe. 

“ I believe so, the man not being insane. I will go with 
you.” 

He escorted her to a cab and they drove to Whitehall. 

When they entered the office they found a gentleman of 
pleasant aspect but with a powerful brow seated in a wilder- 
ness of books, pamphlets and letters. 

He waved his hand, and a clerk placed chairs for them. 

Soon after they were seated he laid down his pen and leaned 
gravely forward to hear their business. 

William Thompson said: 

“ I want to call your attention to a poor man who is con- 
fined in a private lunatic asylum known as Rose Villa Retreat, 
kept by Drs. Harkins and Windham.” 

“ I know the establishment, my dear sir. It is not the first 
time we have had a complaint against those premises, but 
I must confess we have seldom proved those gentlemen were 
in the wrong. They were imposed upon in both cases by the 
relatives of the parties concerned.” 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


229 


“ Without doubt they have also been imposed upon by this 
gentleman’s brother,” replied the detective. 

“ Please give us the facts of the case as briefly as possible.” 

The detective did so. 

Ah, I understand the case now,” said the official. 

“We do hope that you will set him at liberty, sir,” said 
Mary Blythe, piteously. 

“ He shall be released, my dear young lady, if it is as I 
suspect. I will lay the case before the board at once; besides, 
I will inquire into the matter myself. Please favor me with 
your address, and I will communicate with you as soon as I 
have any news.” 

The detective handed the commissioner his card, and both 
he and Miss Blythe bowed themselves out of the office. 

“ Do you think he will keep his word?” questioned Mary 
Blythe, anxiously. 

“ I believe that he will. In the meanwhile I will do my best 
in aiding Sir Clement to escape.” 

“ Heaven bless you!” murmured Mary Blythe, as she got 
into a cab to drive back to the depot to take the next train 
for Sutton. 

****** 

Two days after his interview with the commissioner, Wil- 
liam Thompson went to Rose Villa Retreat. To the keeper 
who answered his ring, he boldly asked the question: 

“ Have they any need of an assistant?” 

“I think we do, in the place of GeorgeSmith. Dr. Harkins 
discharged him last week,” replied the keeper. 

“Well, will you go and find out if the doctor will see me? ” 
asked the detective. 

“I will, for I am tired of doing two men’s work,” and the man 
went in quest of the doctor. 

Thompson had discovered that one of the keepers had 
been discharged, from the landlady of a small roadside inn 
near the asylum, so he determined fo apply for the situation. 

Dr. Harkins received the detective very politely, and read 
his references, which had been prepared for the occasion. 

They were clever forgeries, but Thompson felt justified in 
palming off false references on the asylum physician in order 
to gain admittance to the establishment, for he was deter- 
mined to aid Sir Clement Huntingford to make his escape. 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 


TRAPPED INTO VIOLENCE. 

William Thompson had only been in Rose Villa Retreat a 
day when he saw from the preparations of those in the asylum 
that the commissioners were expected;^ 

Their visit was intended for a surprise, but Dr. Harkins al- 
ways knew when to expect them, nevertheless, one of the 
clerks in Whitehall being regularly feed by him for the infor- 
mation. 

On the morning of the expected visit the house was made 
much cleaner than usual. 

The rotary chair in which they spun a maniac like a teetotum, 
the restraint chairs, and all the other paraphernalia were sent 
to the attic, and so disposed there that even if found they 
would look like things dismissed from all service, for Dr. 
Windham professed no restraint system. 

The detective asked “ what was up,” and found that his 
conjecture was true. 

The commissioners were expected on that day. 

Just at that moment a loud ring at the entrance-door was 
heard, and Thompsdn hastened to answer the bell. He was 
surprised to see Harry Huntingford and Jacobs alight from 
a cab as he opened the gate for their driver. They entered the 
grounds, and Harry Huntingford asked to see Dr. Windham. 

The detective told him to follow, and he led him to the 
doctor’s office. 

Jacobs, who was left alone in the grounds, saw John Smith, 
the head keeper, so he walked up to him and asked: 

“ How is Mr. Hartley?” 

“ He is almost cured, sir,” replied the keeper. 

“ Holy Moses!” cried the Israelite in horrified surprise; “do 
you mean to say that he is no longer insane?” 

” I do. He is just as sane as you or I. We expect the 

230 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 23 1 

commissioners here to-day, and I think that they will insist 
upon his discharge.” 

“ Blooming Rachel! you hurt my feelings. See here, young 
man, can't you prevent the commissioners from believing that 
he is sane?” 

“ I don’t know, sir,” replied the keeper. 

” Look here; there’s a sovereign for you and I will give you 
two more if you fix this little matter for us,” said Jacobs anx- 
iously. 

Another ring at the entrance gate was heard, and Ned Owen 
applied for admittance. 

The keeper reopened the gate, and told him that “he would 
send Mr. Hartley to him.” 

While the lad was waiting for his friend, Jacobs and the 
keeper continued their conversation in the entrance hall of the 
asylum. 

“ My plan is,” said the keeper, “to accuse the boy of stealing, 
then beat him before Mr. Hartley’s face just as the commis- 
sioner’s arrive.” 

“Ah! trap him into violence. Yes, my child, do so by all 
means. I would not have that man escape for all that I am 
worth. He would cause such an excitement if he got out of 
here,” observed the Jew, coolly. 

The commissioners, who had arrived by the front entrance, 
were now being shown through the asylum. 

Charles Hartley was allowed to go and see Ned Owen, who 
was impatiently awaiting him in the grounds. 

They had hardly spoken, when John Smith ran up to the lad 
and caught him roughly by the back of the neck, exclaiming: 

“You young hound! what are you doing here?” 

“I came to see Mr. Hartley. You opened the gate for me 
yourself,” answered Ned Owen in great surprise. 

“You lie, you young rascal! You came here to steal! I’ll 
teach you a lesson,” and the keeper commenced to beat the 
lad, who tried in vain to defend himself from the blows. 

This was more than Sir Clement Huntingford could endure. 

He rushed between them, and knocked down the keeper, 
unfortunately, just at the very moment the commissioners 
entered the grounds. 

Ned Owen was hurried off by two keepers that were in 
Smith’s confidence. 


232 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


The unlucky Sir Clement was seized by a keeper and held 
firmly. 

He cried out excitedly as his eyes flashed fire at the coward 
who had struck a boy unable to defend himself. 

“ You villain! how dare you strike that boy!” 

“The boy is a thieving vagabond who came here to steal. 
He has been hanging about the asylum for weeks,” replied the 
keeper. 

“ That is a lie. He is a friend of mine.” 

“ Oh, that is one of your mad fancies, my friend. If you 
cut up rough any more we will have to put you into the padded 
room.” 

And at a signal from the keeper. Sir Clement was forcibly 
taken back to his chamber. 

The man was completely unaware that he had been trapped 
into violence. 

The commissioners were informed that he generally took 
such fits once a month, and they went away believing that 
Charles Hartley was a dangerous maniac, and that the lady who 
had called at Whitehall did not understand the case. 

Even William Thompson’s view of it was doubted. 

They thought that as he had obtained his information from 
Miss Blythe, it must be unreliable. 

They so made their report to the board, and the unfortunate 
gentleman’s case was dismissed. 

How many similar occurrences happen daily in our private 
lunatic asylums which are most certainly in most cases the 
abodes of untold misery. 

“ Man’s inhumanity to man, makes countless thousands 
mourn.” 

Jacobs said to Harry Huntingford as they drove away from 
Rose Villa Retreat: 

“I managed that little bit of business nicely.” 

“What do you mean?” asked Harry Huntingford in sur- 
prise. 

“ My dear boy, I just saved us from getting into trouble. 
The commissioners came to the asylum to inquire into your 
brother’s case. Even the keepers know that he is sane.” 

“Well, well?” impatiently demanded his companion. 

“ Blooming Rachel! it was not well, it was very bad. Sup- 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


233 


F ose your brother had been discharged; I think both you and 
would feel rather uncomfortable now. Fll tell you what 
I did. I gave the keeper a sovereign — ” 

“ Did you? Wonders will never cease. Jacobs, you are 
getting too liberal.” 

“ I would have given him a dozen before your brother 
should come out of the asylum. He would spoil all our nice 
little plans. I made the keeper get him excited before the 
commissioners, and then Smith told them that Mr. Hartley 
had those fits at least once a month. He was trapped into 
violence. Our little scheme worked beautifully — beautifully!” 
said the Jew. 

“ By Jove! I was lucky to bring you with me,” remarked 
Harry. 

“ That you were, my boy. I just saved you from a catas- 
trophe.” 

Harry Huntingford felt very much depressed when he 
parted from his companion at the entrance to Morley’s Hotel. 

“Was it a presentiment of approaching misfortune?” he 
asked himself. 

Maud Lumley was dead and buried. During life he had 
not cared for her, but he mourned her dead. 

His conscience reproached him for his unmanly treatment 
of her during their betrothal. 

He felt that Rotunno had taken his revenge when he asked 
for his assistance in marrying Mademoiselle Cora. 

Harry bitterly repented of his folly in trusting the Italian 
with such an affair. 

The young nobleman dreaded to meet Lawyer Lumley, 
who had not left his house since the day on which he had 
buried his daughter. 

Harry Huntingford had gone down to Sutton on that day, 
as he had not dared to look upon the dead face of the girl 
whose heart he had broken. 

When Dr. Windham heard that the commissioners were 
about to inquire into the case of Sir Clement Huntingford, he 
wrote a line to his patient’s brother, begging him to come to 
Rose Villa Retreat on the same day. 

He felt quite apprehensive that his patient might be pro- 
nounced sane. 


234 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


Harry Huntingford had made Jacobs accompany him to the 
asylum, for he was afraid to trust himself in his brother’s pres- 
ence alone. 

He had gone immediately to Dr. Windham’s private office 
to avoid meeting the man whom he had so cruelly wronged. 

The way of the transgressor is hard, even in this world. 

Harry Huntingford was wishing that he could recall the 
past and free himself from the terrible entanglements which his 
criminal folly had made around him. 

The idea of presenting Mademoiselle Cora as his wife to 
the world was not to be thought of. She was beautiful and an 
actress, but not a lady of title. 

He well knew that society would resent his marriage, so he 
determined never to acknowledge her publicly as his legal 
wife. 

His passion forthe fascinating woman had been but awhim. 

This selfish and unprincipled man was incapable of feeling 
true affection for any human being, therefore it was impossible 
for him to appreciate a loving woman’s heart. 

He won love only to cast it aside as a faded flower. 

He valued that which he could not possess; therefore Maud 
Lumley was appreciated only when it was too late, and after 
she had died from the shock of learning the real character of 
the man she had loved so dearly. 


CHAPTER XL. 


THE ESCAPE FROM ROSE VILLA RETREAT. 

Detective Thompson had been a keeper in Rose Villa Re- 
sreat for nearly ten days without being able to communicate 
with Sir Clement Huntingford. He was getting tired of the 
position, and felt that he must soon abandon the case in 
his own interests, if he could not bring it to a successful issue. 

He was anxious regarding his business, which he knew was 
accumulating daily, and he was afraid that the man whom he 
had left in his place would not attend to the several matters 
which he (Thompson) could alone manage properly. He de- 
termined to sound the keeper who waited on Sir Clement 
Huntingford that very evening. 

Jim Scott was a quiet character who did not believe in the 
cruelty which he daily witnessed. He often found fault with 
the other keepers and nurses for their inhumanity. 

Sir Clement had fared considerably better since Scott had 
had charge of him. There was quite a difference between this 
man’s methods and those of the head-keeper, who had been 
the attendant of Sir Clement when he first entered the asylum. 

Jim Scott was smoking his pipe in the grounds after his 
supper when Detective Thompson approached him and asked 
“how was the young gentleman that he was taking care of?” 

“Oh, he’s all right. I cannot for the life of me think what 
made him cut up so the day the commissioners were here.” 

“ Perhaps it was a put up job between the head-keeper and 
one of the gentlemen who were visiting here that day.” 

“By Jove! I believe you’re right, for Mr. Hartley told me 
that he couldn’t stand seeing the lad abused.” 

“ Do you think Mr. Hartley is insane, Scott?” 

“No, I do not. The man is as sane as you or I. It is a 
shame to keep him here. I was in hopes that the commis- 
sioners would inquire into his case, but I am afraid it is all up 

235 


236 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


with him now. I am getting tired of ‘this business. Go to 
what asylum you may, you will sec nothing but cruelty. Bah! 
insane people are treated worse than brutes. Their relatives 
don’t know or care so long as they are not bothered about it. 
They even pay the amount of their keeping grudgingly.” 

“ You are right, Scott. Heaven help those who are mad. 
Death is always a boon to them. This is my first situation of 
the kind.” 

“Then you ought to make it your last,” said Scott. “Why, 
man. I’ve been in three other asylums. They are all kept by 
men who haven’t an atom of feeling for their patients. Their 
own aggrandizement is all the asylum doctors ever think of.” 

“Would you like to get into something else?” inquired 
the detective, mentally anxious. 

“Would I? Why, man alive, I would just jump at the 
chance. If I had fifty pounds ahead to keep my family going 
until I could get another job, I would leave here to-morrow.” 

“Can I trust you, Scott?” asked Thompson as he laid his 
hand on the keeper’s arm. 

“That you can. We have not been pals very long, but I 
promise you I won’t blow the gaff.” 

“ I will see that you get a hundred pounds if you will aid 
me to help Mr. Hartley escape.” 

Scott looked at Thompson with his eyes widely open as he 
asked: 

“ Who are you?” 

“ A detective. I came here through the friends of the 
gentleman whom you call Mr. Hartley. He is really Sir 
Clement Huntingford.’* 

“ So he told me when I first took charge of him, and I 
thought he was raving,” said Scott. 

“ His brother, Harry Huntingford, had him kidnapped and 
placed here. He swore that he was not his legitimate brother.” 

“ Oh, I see; so that he could take his property,” observed 
the keeper. 

“ Exactly. Now I want you to help me to get him out of 
here as quickly as possible, for I have lost more time on his 
case than I can afford.” 

“ We will have the coast clear to-morrow evening. Dr. 
Windham told me he was going to Brighton for a few days, 









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FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


237 


and Dr. Harkins never sleeps here. He has his practice in 
the city to attend. I must have some of the money down and 
a note for the rest before I move in the matter.” 

“ All right. Come up-stairs to my room. I will give you 
thirty pounds, and a check for the balance,” answered the 
detective. 

“ By George! I am with you, my boy.” 

The detective took Jim Scott up-stairs and gave him the 
notes he had promised him and the check, saying: 

“ To-morrow prepare Sir Clement, so that we can get out 
of this by to-morrow night.” 

“ I shall do so. We will have to drug the head-keeper as 
soon as the doctors go away. The other two men we can 
easily manage.” 

“ Manage it any way you like, Scott,” said the detective. 

The next morning, when Scott brought Sir Clement Hunt- 
ingford his breakfast, he said to him: 

“ I saw a gentleman here this morning, who has been sent 
here by your friends to obtain you release.” 

Sir Clement looked at the keeper in astonishment. He 
could hardly believe that he had heard aright. After a brief 
time had passed, he mastered his emotion sufficiently to 
exclaim: 

“Merciful Heaven! I thank Thee. God has heard my 
prayers. You believe I am sane, do you not, Scott?” 

“ I do. Sir Clement. I believe that you are as sensible as 1 
am,” said the keeper respectfully. 

“ Father in Heaven. I thank Thee, I thank Thee!” cried Sir 
Clement, clasping his hands. 

He felt that the keeper was his friend. When the man 
addressed him as Sir Clement, he realized that the man believed 
him sane. 

“ Listen, Sir Clement,” said Scott, in a low tone of voice. 
“ This evening both of our doctors will be absent, and I am 
going to aid you to escape, if possible. I shall take you out 
for a walk in the grounds about four o’clock. I will have 
a boat ready for you near the gate and you will find a pair of 
loaded pistols in the bottom of it. Row right up toward the 
inn, where you will find a cab waiting for you. Now I must 
be off, or Smith will suspect the game,” and Scott hastily left 
the room,” locking, the door after him. 


238 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


Sir Clement Huntingford flung himself on his knees and 
prayed fervently to God to restore him to freedom. He thanked 
his heavenly Father for sending him succor at last. He arose 
from his devotions feeling very much comforted, ate his 
breakfast and tried to read until dinner time; but he was 
nervous and ill at ease. The hours dragged slowly, and he be- 
gan to feel that something might happen to prevent his escape. 
At noon Keeper Scott brought him his dinner, and whispered: 

“ Dr. Windham has gone to Brighton. Old Harkins will go 
home after dinner and then we will have things as we want 
them. Eat a good dinner and lie down until I come to take 
you for a walk,” and the keeper hurriedly disappeared, for he 
had a great deal to accomplish in a few hours. 

He obtained leave of absence from the head-keeper, as he 
said he wanted to attend to some private business. He called 
on the landlady of the Royal Arms and bought a bottle of her 
best port. He then hired a cab to come to the inn and wait 
there until a gentleman would come and use it. He handed a 
sovereign to the driver, saying: 

“ Do as I bid you and don’t say a word to any one. Just 
wait here.” 

“ Very well, sir,” said the cabman, touching his hat. 

As it was striking four by the asylum clock, Jim Scott un- 
locked Sir Clement Huntingford’s door and said: 

“ Everything is ready. The gate is unlocked. I have 
drugged Smith. He drank nearly the whole of a bottle of port 
with enough laudanum in it to make him sleep well.” 

With a beating heart Sir Clement followed the keeper. 
They walked the grounds as usual for awhile, Scott having Sir 
Clement by the arm. 

“Jerk yourself away as soon as we get near the gate,” whis- 
pered the keeper. 

Sir Clement obeyed Scott’s orders to the letter. As soon as 
they were near the gate, he wrenched himself away from 
Scott’s arm and dashed toward the gate which the keeper had 
left unlocked, and in another moment he was outside the 
grounds running rapidly toward the boat. The alarm was 
sounded by a nurse who saw the flying man with a keeper at 
his heels. 

Detective Thompson played his part to perfection. He 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


239 


ran after Sir Clement followed at some distance by Scott. He 
soon reached the fleeing fugitive, who fully expected that he 
must defend himself from being forcibly brought back to the 
asylum. To his surprise, the pursuer said to him: 

“Don’t be alarmed. I am not a keeper. I am your friend,” 
and helped him to push the boat into the stream and then row 
toward the inn. 

Scott pretended to get into another boat to follow them, 
but he took good care to occupy so much time in getting the 
boat ready that Sir Clement and the detective had almost 
landed before he pushed off. As he rowed down the stream 
he saw them enter the cab that was waiting, and knew that 
they were nov/ beyond pursuit. 

* * * * 

Mademoiselle Cora had not seen Harry Huntingford since 
the fatal morning she had met him at the house of Lawyer 
Lumley. She keenly felt his desertion and bitterly resented 
the unmanly part which he had acted toward her, but she also 
possessed a great, loving woman’s heart that all her trials and 
disappointments through life had not spoilt. She determined 
to forgive her erring husband. Women can forgive those whom 
they love, no matter how injured they may be, if they are the 
possessors of real, unselfish, womanly hearts. Cora was a noble 
woman, therefore she made up her mind to go to her husband 
and ask him to take her back to his heart once more. 

She called upon him at Morley’s Hotel, where she aston- 
ished the waiter by stating that she was a near relative of Sir 
Harry Huntingford, and desired to be shown to his apartment. 

When she entered her husband’s sitting-room, he flung 
aside the book which he held in his hand, and sprung to his 
feet, exclaiming: 

“ Cora, you here?” 

“ Yes, Harry, I have come to you to beg that you will ac- 
knowledge our marriage,” answered his wife, in a trembling 
voice, and she came toward him with extended arms. 

“ We are not on the stage, Cora, therefore you can drop your 
theatrical attitude,” was the cruel speech that he made to his 
forgiving wife. 

Cora burst into tears; every nerve in her sensitive organi- 
zation quivered with pain. 


/ 


240 FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 

“ Our marriage I will acknowledge. You are legally Lady 
Huntingford. If you want my title you are welcome to it, but 
I will never live with you. You may draw on my bankers for 
whatever amount you may require, in fact our lawyers can ar- 
range that matter. My society I shall give to whom I please.” 

Cora Huntingford drew herself up to her full height. 

“ I did not come here to beg for money. I have more than I 
require. The diamonds which my father left to Ned and my- 
self are enough for all our wants. I came here with a heart 
full of forgiving love — ” 

At this moment the door was burst open, interrupting Cora 
in her speech. Dr. Windham entered, looking pale and ex- 
cited. Jacobs and Lawyer Saunders were with him. Jacobs 
was the first to speak: , 

“We are ruined,” he cried, and then Dr. Windham spoke: 

“Yes, your brother escaped from Rose Villa Retreat during 
my absence yesterday afternoon.” 

The doctor had hardly announced this fact when the sitting- 
room door again opened and Sir Clement Huntingford, Mary 
Blythe and Ned Owen came in. 

“You see, gentlemen, that I have escaped, that Providence 
watches over us all, and that the best laid plans of men are 
sometimes frustrated. I have returned from my living tomb 
where your heartless cruelty consigned me. I have returned 
to give you all up to justice. Jacobs, you deserve more than 
human justice, for you consigned more than two hundred souls 
to a terrible death in putting your infernal machine on board 
the Lily of the Valley.” 

“You, John Saunders, shall answer to me for the amounts 
you have defrauded from the Sutton and Huntingford estates, 
also for the conspiracy against me. And you, my unnatural 
brother, know what your fate will be.” 

Sir Clement opened the door and two officers entered, ac- 
companied by Detective Thompson. 

“Gentlemen, do your duty,” said the true baronet, as he 
stood with folded arms and watched the handcuffs being put 
on all the three men before him. 

“Dr. Windham, you may have thought I was insane, the 
fact of my having changed my name being against me.” 

“ I did wrong, Sir Clement; though I kept within the law. 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


241 


It was my duty to make sure, but I was in Jacobs’ power. My 
partner, Dr. Harkins, owed him a note which I had endorsed.” 

” And you allowed your own selfish interests to interfere 
with my liberty. Be careful how you act in the future, doctor, 
for if I live I shall use all the influence and means at my dis- 
posal to render the condition of our unfortunate lunatics more 
comfortable, and prevent sane people from being locked up,” 
said Sir Clement Huntingford to Dr. Windham, who cringed 
low before the speaker, and then left the room hastily. 

Cora Huntingford was weeping bitterly in her brother’s 
arms as the officers had started to take their prisoners down- 
stairs. 

They all went out in the hall; but the detective had already 
reached the bottom of the stairs. Harry Huntingford stood 
next to the door of the elevator against which he leaned his 
back. 

“Blooming Rachel!” said Jacobs, “won’t my mother-in-law 
be delighted when she hears the news.” 

The officers laughed at the Hebrew’s joke; but Harry Hunt- 
ingford, who had been intently watching them, suddenly burst 
the elevator door in with all his strength, and before any one 
could prevent it he had flung himself down the shaft. 

The body of the suicide was picked up and carried to his 
room; but life was extinct. Cora was a widow. She was in- 
consolable, for she had loved the handsome scape-grace. 

Mary Blythe tried to console her with words of sweet wom- 
anly sympathy, but the wound was too fresh to be healed by 
any earthly comfort. 

* ^ ^ ^ 

Six months after the escape of Sir Clement from Rose Villa 
Retreat, he was married to Mary Blythe at Sutton Court, to 
the great delight of his aunt. Miss Huntingford. She had 
entirely recovered her health, and never ceased to give thanks 
to God for her nephew’s providential escape from so many 
dangers. 

The old lady was more than pleased to see him married to 
her old friend’s daughter. Mrs. Blythe’s warm, motherly soul 
rejoiced in the happiness of her child. 

Lord Landsmere was the happiest old nobleman in Eng'land 
after the return of his favorite nephew. He did not regret 


242 


FOR LOVE OF GOLD. 


the loss of Beatrice Passo, since he had learned her real char- 
acter. He was charmed with the bride, and felt that he could 
now die in peace, as he had a worthy heir for Landsmere. 

Among the guests at Sir Clement’s wedding was the real 
Charles Hartley, who had just returned from India. He paid 
marked attention to Mrs. Harry Huntingford, nee Cora Owen, 
who seemed to find considerable pleasure in his society. 

The shrewd society gossips whispered to one another that 
one wedding was apt to bring another, as they looked at Charles 
Hartley bending over the chair of the beautiful widow. 

Mrs. Harry Huntingford retired from the stage the day her 
husband committed suicide, and devoted herself to her brother 
Ned, who is studying hard with a tutor in order to pass an ex- 
amination that will qualify him to enter Oxford. 

Signor Rotunno and his sister have again taken their abode 
in Paris, where they lead the same life as they did before they 
left that gay capital for London. 

Pedro Morelli inherited a small fortune, and returned to 
his native city, Milan, to enjoy it in peace. 

When Lawyer Lumley heard of the suicide of his former 
patron and would-be son-in-law, the only effect the news pro- 
duced on him was a momentary feeling of satisfaction. 

“Dead,” he murmured; “he deserved his fate. He broke 
my poor girl’s heart.” 

He made his will the very day he heard of Harry Hunting- 
ford’s death, leaving his millions to found an industrial school 
for poor girls and boys. He died from apoplexy the follow- 
ing week. 

Thus we see, even in this world, that Providence watches 
over the weak and protects the innocent in spite of the criminal 
schemes of man. 


[the end.] 



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